Empty
by Lucida Bright
Summary: March 1982. All seems well at Fenchurch East CID, but it doesn't take much to reveal the bleakness just beneath the surface. When a new wave of petty violence threatens innocent people, can Gene and Alex work out what's missing in their own lives?
1. Vacuum

_This is a little five-chapter story, mostly written before I watched S2, so it's as though Operation Rose, Summers etc had never been. It's more bittermint than candyfloss, but stick with it and you'll be rewarded. Thanks to critics theHuntGoeson and Katie Duggan's Niece for early feedback, and to Wombledon – La Generalissima Beta Superba_

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_March 1982, Fenchurch East_

'Ma'am, could I have a word?'

'Sure, Shaz. What's up?'

Alex had been having a quiet moment in the kitchen after a hellish morning, but she always had time for WDC Granger.

'It's a bit awkward, Ma'am…'

'Won't go any further, you know that.'

'No… it's about you and Sergeant Maddox, Ma'am.'

Alex frowned. She'd been going out with Don Maddox for less than two weeks. A uniform sergeant at Fenchurch East, he was a bit too close to home, and she knew it was a mistake. He was fit as hell and well endowed and she'd fancied a bit of honest physicality. Physical he certainly was, and energetic, but honest? She'd caught him in a stupid lie two days before. So what now?

'Chris was in the Pig last night.'

The Spotted Pig was a pub off Cable Street that uniform had colonised.

'And?'

'And he overheard some gossip, Ma'am.'

'About me and Maddox.'

'Er, yes.'

'Spit it out, Shaz, for god's sake.'

'Can't repeat it, Ma'am. But he was telling a bunch of blokes about your, um, skills.' She blushed scarlet and couldn't look her DI in the face.

'_Bastard_.'

'I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I thought you should know.'

Alex put a hand on the girl's shoulder. 'Thank you, Shaz. I really appreciate it. You're a loyal friend.'

'Hope so, Ma'am. But there's…'

'What, worse?'

'The Guv was there, Ma'am.'

Alex closed her eyes and sighed, not wanting to think of the repercussions. But Gene had said nothing to her this morning. Embarrassed for her, or laughing at her? Sod him. It was none of his business.

Except that she discovered he'd made it his business after she rang Maddox five minutes later.

'Don? We need to meet.'

'Can't wait till tonight, sweetie?

'No. CID interview room now.'

'My, my. Keen. Like it.'

Ray Carling was badgering a suspect in one interview room, so Alex went into the other and left the door open. Maddox took his time but sauntered in. Grabbed for her.

She stepped back, palms out to indicate she didn't want to be touched. 'I gather you were shouting your mouth off last night in the Pig.'

'Just telling some of the lads how lucky I am to, er, have you.'

'Not any more. We're finished.'

'Didn't think you were a bad sport, sweetie. But then I didn't realise I was stepping on your DCI's toes, either. You should have said.'

'What are you talking about?'

'He warned me off. Threatened me, if you please.' Maddox snorted derisively.

'You think that's funny?'

'I'd have him for breakfast, sweetheart.'

'Stick to All-Bran, Don. You're dumped.'

Alex went back to CID, trying to keep her temper in check. Gene's office door was open, so she didn't bother knocking; barged in and closed the door.

'Yes, Bolly, as it happens, I have a couple of free minutes.'

'You don't know what I was going to ask.'

'I do know what you should have asked, however. And that was the answer.' He flicked her a brief smile.

'What did you say to Don Maddox last night?'

'Not much. Reminded him of his manners, that's all.'

'He said you threatened him.'

Gene pulled a dismissive face. 'He's oversensitive.'

'He also said he didn't realise he was _stepping on your toes_. What gave him that impression, Guv?'

'Nothing that I said or did, I can assure you. The man was being disrespectful, rude, disloyal and coarse both to you as his… lady friend, and to you as a senior officer. I didn't like his tone or his attitude towards a member of my team, so I had a quiet word.'

He spoke softly and sounded so reasonable that Alex had nowhere to go. She hovered for a moment. Gene looked up at her. 'Something else, Bolly?'

'How much did you hear?'

'Enough.'

'What was he saying, exactly?'

'Either he was telling the truth, in which case you'll learn nothing new, or he was lying, and it's irrelevant.'

'Guv, I need to know.'

'No, Alex, you don't. All you need to know is that the man is an arsewipe and not worth your time or attention, let alone your care.'

'Yes, thanks, Anna Raeburn. He's been told.'

'Comes of getting involved with a colleague, Bolly. Best to keep these things away from your own doorstep.'

She was beginning to lose her temper, and had to bite her tongue. 'I know. It's a mistake I won't make again.' She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, with Gene's voice just audible as she left.

'You're welcome, Bolls.'

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It had been going on for a while, this frenetic social life. For months after she arrived, Alex made no effort to make a life for herself. Waiting to go home to Molly, she didn't bother to make friends, or take advantage of her peculiar situation. But when she had to watch her parents die, watch her world go up in smoke and her memories turned upside down, something changed. Everything on which her life had been based was lost. Her father, psychotic; her mother, flawed; Evan, weak.

And Gene Hunt. She didn't know what he was. The only solid thing in this seismic existence. Over the months she'd had to revise everything she'd known about him, and then, suddenly, he was her rescuer. Her white knight. Lonely and adrift, she'd begun to depend on him, fall a little in love with him. But even though he'd seemed keen in the first few months, he'd been immune to all her flirtatious behaviour and the occasional drunken pass. And eventually she'd given up. It hurt to acknowledge it, but he didn't want her any more. So she started looking around for someone who did. There was a whole city full of men, and she knew she was attractive enough. It wouldn't be hard to find someone to keep her company, make her feel good, let her forget.

The first one was a smooth-talking pathologist, Mahmoud Hassan, whose wife had left him and gone back to Cairo. After three pleasant but unfulfilling nights, he'd suggested a little spice; but when he took Alex down to his basement and showed her into his dungeon, begging her to take him to subspace, she said goodbye.

She was asked to a charity dinner by the City Force superintendent, David Goss, who was bright, fit, and smitten. He had no wife, no deviant sexual preferences, no hang-ups, and absolutely no sense of humour. Alex stuck it for a month, but got a hysterical desire to giggle uncontrollably and quote large chunks of Ethel the Frog at him, doing bad John Cleese impressions and trying to teach him to respond with 'Morning, Wonderful' when she said 'Morning, Super.' He never understood why.

Gordon Carr was not promising at first glance. A forensic accountant in his early fifties, he took her once or twice a week to the Festival Hall to see the LSO, to the Wigmore Hall to hear Thomas Allen, to St John's Smith Square, to the Opera House to see Domingo and Cotrubas. Then he'd take her home to his elegant house in Kennington and prove that all suits were not grey in the dark; a skilled and considerate lover, he'd leave her breathless and blissed out. But civilised, generous and great lover though he was, emotional he wasn't. He didn't want love, he wanted good company and satisfaction, and after a while it left Alex feeling empty.

She'd learned early on that keeping her private life private was essential in the festering gossip swamp of Fenchurch East, and she was careful to keep work and personal life strictly segregated. As she spent so little time at Luigi's, it wasn't hard for the team to work out that she was doing other things with her evenings, but she and her lovers were discreet and CID was left wondering.

So going out with Don Maddox had been seriously stupid, for any number of reasons. But he'd been very single-minded; told her he'd been watching her, knew she'd been watching him. He'd ignored her protests that she'd been doing nothing of the kind, and didn't bother waiting for her to give him the green light. He was a good kisser, with a sprinter's body and a gourmet lunchbox, but he was a one-trick pony with no imagination and no kindness. She'd been about to dump him, but hadn't done it soon enough, to her chagrin, and now she'd have to pay for Maddox's indiscretion.

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_May 1982_

Something had happened; that much was obvious to everyone in CID. Gene couldn't slide that past the room full of detectives, but what it was he kept to himself. But he didn't bother hiding his mood, taking it out on the team, on objects that didn't do as required, on the world at large. Every evening for a week he spent at Luigi's, sitting on his tod, drinking to get drunk. On Thursday night Luigi had gone to bed leaving Gene clutching a bottle of scotch and refusing to move from his corner table; the restaurateur locked up muttering Etruscan opinions of Gene's sanity. Friday morning was not a happy experience for CID.

'Boss?' Chris looked twitchy.

'Yes, Chris.' Alex hadn't been to Luigi's all week, either with Gordon or out for girly evenings with her barrister chum Astrid Summerson, so she'd only heard the mutterings about Gene's behaviour.

Chris struggled on, shifting from foot to foot in embarrassment. 'The Guv's making himself ill. Every night this week he's got legless just sitting on his own and drinking till he passes out and someone takes him home. Ray's tried to talk to him but he nearly got a slap last night. The Guv might talk to you, Boss.'

'I'll try, Chris. But…' She shrugged. She and Gene weren't on the best of terms any more. She barely saw him, in fact. He'd given her a long leash, letting her run her own cases with minimal interference. Alex didn't know if it was because he trusted her or despised her. Most likely he wasn't bothered either way as long as she did her job, she thought. He had other things to think about these days. Budget cuts, a new division Commander he didn't like, not to mention the constant threat of Operation Countryman.

Alex knew he'd been seeing a woman called Erica Brodie for the last three months. She'd been a witness to an attempted bank robbery; dark haired, pretty, curvy and small, she was a sweet thing, all smiles. Mid thirties, probably. She'd phoned Gene a week after the incident and said she'd remembered something; he'd gone to see her and hadn't come back to the office that day.

A week or so after that and he'd suddenly seemed very relaxed. Was even heard whistling to himself when in the kitchen making tea.

The office was a place transformed. Without their usual bickering and each of them with a life outside the office, days in CID were quite dull, albeit productive.

Gene's whistling stopped after a month or so, and he spent more evenings at Luigi's, having a few pints before heading off to Erica; but it seemed a fairly settled arrangement, and she'd turn up now and then for a drink before they went off to the cinema or out for a Chinese. She was a gentle, sweet soul and obviously besotted with Gene. What he needed, thought Alex; someone to love and protect. Someone to look after him. He'd seemed contented, until this Monday morning. But Alex couldn't imagine a row with Miss Lovin' Spoonful bad enough to fuel Gene's atrocious mood for more than a few hours.

She got no chance then to talk to Gene as he took himself off and didn't reappear till after lunch, shaved and in clean clothes, at least. Just as she was about to beard him in his den, Alex was called out; a missing person had surfaced on the low-tide beach under Tower Bridge.

When she got back, everyone was across the road, so she went upstairs to shower and change; by the time she got back down to the bar, Gene was three pints plus chasers to the good, according to Luigi.

'Be careful, Signorina. He is not a 'appy man.'

She took over her glass of wine and sat down opposite her DCI. 'You okay, Guv?'

'I was till you helped yourself to that chair.'

'Been ages since we've had a chat in here.'

'Not long enough. Not in the mood for your nonsense, Drake, so take yourself off.'

'What's wrong? You've been miserable as sin all week.'

'What's wrong is you nosey sods sticking your beaks in my business. I'm perfectly all right, so go away and leave me alone.'

'Gene…'

He stood up, picked up fags, lighter and glass, and walked to another table without a glance in her direction. After a moment, she followed. But before she could sit down, Gene put his feet on the chair and glared up at her.

'Go away, Drake. Don't want to see you, or hear you. Same goes for all the other retards I have the misfortune to command. Now fuck off like a good inspector.' He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in her direction, throwing the whisky chaser down his throat before shouting at Luigi for a refill.

Alex tried twice more during the evening, but with even less success, retreating to the other side of the room where Viv and Ray were sitting. Since she'd put some distance between herself and the team out of working hours, Ray had thawed somewhat, and their relationship was at least easier, if not exactly chummy.

'You've known him longest, Ray. What's going on?'

'I don't know. But he were like this when his missus walked out and started the divorce. About two weeks it were. We thought he were going to kill someone or drink hisself to death, or both.'

'Was it the same when Sam Tyler died?'

'No. Then he were drinking all day as well.'

By half past eleven, Gene had given in to exhaustion and alcohol and was slumped against the uholstery, snoring. Alex, who'd stayed off the booze, tapped Ray on the arm. 'We'd better get him home. I'm okay to drive, but I'll need help to get him inside at the other end.'

'No problem, Boss.'

Between them they got Gene up to the street and into the Quattro, lying across the back seat, mumbling. Alex drove them over London Bridge to Stoney Street and they manoeuvred Gene into the house and upstairs, letting him fall on to the bed.

'Thanks, Ray. You okay to get home from here?'

'It's not far – just down Borough Road. I'll jump a cab. What about you, Boss?'

'Yeah, I'll be fine. Lots of cabs at London Bridge.'

The loyal sidekick let himself out of the house, and Alex was left with a comatose Gene Hunt. Sighing, she started the process of undressing him which got tricky when he half woke up and semed to think he was being seduced by some tart, trying to get his arms round her. 'Saucy… come 'ere, darlin'…' There were other less coherent sentences, and a snorting cackle when she undid his belt and his trousers, but after that it went quiet until she'd got him down to his undercrackers and under the duvet.

She sat on the bed and looked at him, wondering what was going on. She thought she'd try something.

'Gene?' She spoke clearly and quietly, wondering whether she could prompt a sort of hypnosis effect. 'Gene, tell me what's making you so miserable.'

He opened his eyes and looked straight at her. 'Bolls...' His hand emerged from under the covers and groped blindly for hers.

She took his hand and held it on her knee. Smiled at him encouragingly. 'Tell me what's wrong, Gene.'

'Mmmm?' He closed his eyes and frowned. Muttered a few words of which Alex could only make out one. 'Trapped.'

It was the last thing he uttered, squeezing her hand before closing his eyes and starting to snore. She sat for a moment holding his hand, looking at the soft flesh inside his forearm, blue veins showing through the fair skin. What had happened? _Trapped_. Is that what he'd said? To do with Erica? Or work? No point trying to guess. All she knew for sure was that, for once, it was nothing to do with her.

Alex turned Gene's bedroom light out and crept upstairs to see if there was a spare bed. The top floor was a building site, one room half plastered, the other stripped to the bare brick. The ground floor was bachelor-minimal; stripped floorboards and one fat rust-coloured armchair in front of the telly, an empty bottle of Bells whisky on the floor beside it. The kitchen was new, by the look of it, and tidy. It was the chair or the floor, so Alex snuck back up to Gene's bedroom, stole a pillow, found a blanket in a cupboard, snuck downstairs and settled into the giant armchair; it wasn't going to be a restful night, but she wanted another crack at Gene in the morning. He needed a friend, and if she was on hand, he might talk.

How wrong could one be.

She was up and showered before he stirred; there was no coffee, so she was pouring boiling water on to a tea bag when there was an eruption behind her.

'Jesus effing Christmas… What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?'

She turned. He looked dog rough, standing there in boxers and shirt, creased and unbuttoned. Quite endearing, really, she thought fleetingly.

'Morning, Gene. Tea?'

'Why the bloody hell are you in my house?'

'We were worried you'd overdone it last night.'

'I get a bit pissed and you interfering mumsy bastards think I need a babysitter? Fuck off, Drake. Ray's poured me in and out of enough cabs before now. Why did you feel it necessary to treat my house like a hotel?'

'Thought we could talk.'

'Fucking women. You can't leave well alone, can you?'

'You've been in a foul mood all week, getting legless every night. The team thought you might talk to me. They asked me, Gene, because they were worried about you.'

'Bollocks.'

'You think I chose to have an uncomfortable night in your uncomfortable chair because… what, I've picked you as a case study?'

He snorted. 'I've long given up trying to navigate your maze of a mind.'

'Seemed like you need a friend. Problem shared is a problem halved.'

'If I wanted to tell my troubles to a friend, it wouldn't be you, Drake.'

She felt herself flush scarlet, and had to take a deep breath to absorb the hurt. 'I'm a professional, Gene. Trained to listen. I can help you.'

'You're a professional pain in the arse. I don't want your help. Bugger off and leave me in peace.'

'You're taking it out on the team, and you're heading for a stint in hospital, the rate you're drinking. Look… If you won't talk to me, then act. Make a decision and change whatever it is that needs to be changed. The way things are – the way you're behaving – is doing nobody any good, least of all you. Sort it out, Guv.'

'Is that it? Are you finished?'

'If you want to talk, any time, I'll listen.'

'I'll remind you of that next time you're insubordinate and bloody irritating. Now sod off. Don't slam the door as you leave.' He stood aside and waved her out of the kitchen.

She picked up her bag and made for the front door. 'Bye, then.' She got no answer.

On Monday morning Gene was back to his old self; no whistling, and good-humoured snarling. He drank no more than usual at Luigi's, and whatever had troubled him the previous week seemed to have been resolved as though a clock had been wound back. Friday night and Saturday morning were never mentioned, and there was no further sign of Erica.

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A couple of weeks later, Alex started noticing things happening in her flat. Objects being moved, like a perfume bottle that was on her dressing table turning up in the fridge; the toaster turned 180 degrees on the kitchen workshop. At first she wondered if she was getting absent-minded or stressed, but it kept happening. A mirror turned to the wall; a pair of boots in the hall, pointing to the door as though she'd stepped out of them and left the flat. She changed the lock, but it made no difference. She started coming back to the flat at random times in the day to see if she could catch the culprit. Nothing was ever stolen, nothing was ever left behind.

'Luigi? You haven't been into my flat recently, have you?'

'No, signorina. I would never, not before asking to you first.'

'Have you seen anyone upstairs?'

He shook his head. 'No.'

The incidents stopped for a few days, then she started hearing noises from the flat upstairs. Footsteps. Furniture being dragged across the floor. A noise here, a noise there, for a few seconds each time, then silence for the rest of the night. She went up to check, but the door to the flat was firmly locked. When she told Luigi, after the third disturbed night, he got the key and went upstairs with her. Unless poltergeists had size 11 Nikes, it was a living pest. But one who left nothing but footprints.

Alex was going out with Ulf Neumann, who was just that, a new man, a homeopath, a feminist and a member of Greenpeace. He was a refreshing antidote to the prevailing attitudes at Fenchurch East, but he wouldn't come to Alex's flat as he was violently allergic to the cigarette smoke which filtered up through three floors, and had bad memories of meeting Ray Carling during an animal rights demo on Tower Hill. He lived in a small squat off Brick Lane and couldn't accommodate Alex, so Ulf was no refuge from the increasingly sinister night visitations, and Alex was getting very little sleep.

One night she came back to the flat late, and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. She turned on the light and met the shameless gaze of a brown rat the size of a small pony, noshing on a loaf of Hovis she'd left on the worktop. She didn't actually scream, but slammed the kitchen door shut on the beast and shuddered noisily. Unable to cope with the new lodger, she shot back out of the flat and went across to the station, preferring no sleep to the prospect of sharing a pillow with the beady-eyed whiskery interloper.

She was woken by Chris and Shaz bursting into the office with the energy of the well rested.

'You all right, Ma'am?'

'I'm fine, Shaz. Or I will be after a bucket of coffee.'

'I'll put the kettle on, Boss.'

'Thanks, Chris.'

Gene was unimpressed, making it clear he didn't have any sympathy for a DI whose social life was taking its toll. Alex couldn't be bothered to put him right, mostly because it would mean explaining everything. So she struggled through the day till Gene sent her home, disgusted with her litany of errors and sluggish thinking.

That evening, his second pint almost dispatched, Gene felt Luigi looming at his shoulder, and sat back. 'Yes, my little amigo. What can I do for you?'

'Is the signorina Alex all okay now? All the mystery is solved?'

'What mystery? Why wasn't she okay?'

'The footsteps upstairs, the mystery movings, the frightening. She tells you, no?'

'When was this?'

Luigi related the last ten days' goings on on the second and third floors. 'And this morning she ring me to say there was big rat in her kitchen last night. She ask me if I see rats in my building and I say of course no, we extinguish them again last week…'

Gene was half way to the door, shouting for Ray and Chris to follow him, and taking the basement steps two at a time. Three flights of stairs took it out of them, however, and they were gasping, middle-aged hearts pounding, by the time they reached the second floor; the door to Alex's flat was open. They heard scuffling feet and raised voices above them, and having sent Chris in to check Alex's flat, Gene and Ray took the fourth flight of stairs at record speed, bursting throught the door of the top flat.

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_Ch2 is ready and will be up in a few days, with the finale a few days after that. Your feedback and reviews are all hugely appreciated - it really helps to know what appeals to readers. Love hearing from readers who haven't reviewed before..._


	2. Antidote

_Thanks as ever to betaWombledon_

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In a split second, Gene saw Alex, hands out with palms down, trying to calm the situation; and Sergeant Don Maddox, poised on the balls of his feet, ready for fight or flight, a knife in his hand. The sort of knife macho men take with them on camping trips, one razor sharp edge curved, the other straight, coming to a lethal point. A hunting knife.

With Gene and Ray blocking his escape, the only option Maddox had was to fight, and Gene could see him switch gear, the knife held out in front of him, ready to strike.

Gene growled at him. 'Maddox, you're finished. No way can you get out of this. Put the knife down.' His eyes flicked to Alex and back to Maddox, watching for the slightest move. 'Put it down, fuckwit. You've got three colleagues to get through before you can run, and even if you have the balls to knife one of us, the other two will be on you.'

'You won't risk her, though, will you, Hunt? Won't put your precious DI in danger. So if I have –'

Chris, chasing up the stairs, fell over the ragged carpet on the landing and crashed into a stack of aluminium drinks trays. The noise distracted Maddox for a split second; Alex grabbed some object beside her and hit his knife arm, then kicked him hard in the balls as Gene and Ray started forward. Seeing Maddox disarmed, Gene halted and stopped Ray, letting Alex finish the job. Bent double in agony, Maddox was pushed to the floor by his ex-girlfriend, and his hands cuffed behind his back. Flushed, high on adrenalin, Alex stepped away from him with a breathless laugh.

'Neatly done, Drake. Ray, Chris – get him over the road and into a cell. Preferably one that needs cleaning. Then send SOCO up here. I want them to go through this place and Drake's flat like a dose of salts. Search everything. Find everything that can tie that bastard to the evidence. Tell them to look for recent evidence of a rat in DI Drake's kitchen while they're at it. If they find the rat, get them to put it in the cell with Sgt Sleaze. Check his keys – one will fit the street door, and one may fit DI Drake's front door, although he's probably got a set of lockpicks. Search him very carefully, get everything vaguely relevant photographed, bagged and labelled. I want this to stick like Araldite. Not one chance in a million of the arsehole getting off. Understand me?'

Once captors and criminal had clattered down the stairs, Gene went over to Alex who was perching on a broken chair, elbows on her knees. 'Did he hurt you, Bolls?'

She shook her head. 'No. I caught him carving some message into the door, look.'

There were four crude letters cut into the paint. _BITC-_

'I don't think he intended to hurt me, but…'

'He did when I clapped eyes on him. He'll go down for assault with a deadly weapon, Bolly.'

Her voice was shaking as the adrenalin drained out of her. 'There's nothing in the prince-finding guidebook about risks. Rule is, kiss the frog and if it doesn't turn into a prince, it stays a frog. Doesn't tell you that it can turn into a crocodile.'

'Come on, Bolls.' He rubbed her shoulder for an instant, then helped her to her feet.

'Don't fuss, Guv. I'm all right.'

'Course you are, love. But we need to get you out of here. SOCO will be up soon and you know what buggers they are. Mess and noise and fuss. Come on.'

Alex got into the Quattro without argument, quiet while Gene was on the radio, talking to Ray. 'Don't want anyone going near Maddox tonight, understand? Get Viv to see to it. And I want you and Chris writing reports tonight, before you forget a single detail. Understand me?' Ray's voice squawked a Yes Guv, and Gene signed off, before asking the dispatcher to get hold of the Chief Super. 'Sir, sorry to break into your evening, but you need to hear this.' He gave the senior officer the bad news about his rogue sergeant and answered a string of terse questions before asking one of his own. 'Who will get to lead the investigation, sir? Don't want this going skew-wiff.'

Whatever Marsden said, Gene didn't argue. 'Chief Super sends you his best wishes, Bolls.'

'I heard. It's a mess, isn't it?'

'Not your fault, Alex.' He turned into Stoney Street, the stalls of Borough Market dark and empty. He parked, and ushered Alex in through his front door, at which point she realised where they were.

'Why have you brought me here?'

'Because your flat is a crime scene full of flatfooted SOCOs.'

'I'll go and stay with Astrid.'

'Who's Astrid? Sounds like a porn star.'

'A friend. I have got some. She's only five minutes round the corner. Just past the Tate.'

You're south of the river now, Mrs.'

'I know. Tate. Right here. Almost next door.'

'Tate Gallery's on Millbank. Even I know that.'

'Oh… _oh_. No. Bankside, I meant. I'll walk round.'

'You're here now. And if you can't tell the difference between an art gallery and a power station I don't think you should be let loose.'

'Don't want another night in your bloody chair. Need a proper sleep in a comfortable bed. Astrid's got a spare room.'

'I've got a spare room. If you'd timed it better and got your boyfriend to wait a couple of weeks before trying to kill you, I'd have finished decorating it.'

Alex started to protest, but Gene didn't give her a chance to speak. 'My bed's very comfortable. You'll sleep very well in it. And before you squawk, Princess Prissy, I'll be downstairs. The chair's perfectly good enough for me.'

'But…'

'Oh, shut up, Bolly. I'm not the villain here.' He put the kettle on and hurled a tea bag into a mug, followed by two sugars.

'I don't take sugar.'

'You do now. You'll drink it and be grateful. And you'll eat the sandwich I'm making you.'

'I don't want…'

Gene slammed the bread knife down on the worktop and spun round, eyes flashing. 'I'm losing my rag with you, Alex. Why did I have to hear about this stalker from Luigi?'

'It was nothing worth mentioning.'

'Uh-huh. Where did you sleep last night?'

She didn't answer.

'You didn't sleep, did you? You spent the night in the office because you were scared to go back into your flat.' No response. 'Answer me, DI Drake.' He was snarling, his temper fraying.

'I don't like rats.' She spat the words at him.

'So why not say something this morning?'

'Couldn't be bothered arguing with you.'

'Why didn't you tell me you were being intimidated?'

Her voice rose. 'It was petty stuff. Nothing I couldn't handle.'

'Did you know who it was?'

'No.' She looked furtive. 'Not till last night. It was the rat. I told Don once I hated them.'

Gene looked as if he wanted to break something. 'Did it occur to you that the bastard meant to hurt you?'

'No. Give me a bit of fright, maybe. Not actually hurt me.'

'He had a knife designed to kill things, Drake.'

'I don't think he would have used it. He would have run off if you hadn't blundered in like the Keystone Cops.'

Gene spoke with soft menace, his eyes glittering. 'Are you blaming me for his threatening your life?'

She flushed. 'No.'

'No. You don't know what he might have done if we'd not found you. Rape, for instance.'

She swallowed, unable to contradict him.

The kettle came to the boil and switched itself off. Gene turned back to making tea and sandwiches, letting his temper cool. 'Why didn't you tell me, Alex?'

She still couldn't look at him. 'Should have done, I suppose.'

'You suppose right. So why didn't you?'

'_Oh_… because I felt stupid and I didn't want you being all snarky and chauvinist.'

'Was I _snarky_ or _chauvinist_ after Maddox was boasting in the pub?'

She sighed. 'No.'

'Do you feel I don't take you seriously?'

'No. Not any more.'

He turned round with a plate and a mug in his hands. 'Right. Sit down and get yourself outside this. That's an order.'

She backed into the other room and sat down in the huge armchair. Gene put the plate on one of its square arms and the mug into Alex's hand.

She took it meekly. 'Thanks. But once I've had this I'll ring for a cab and go round to Astrid.'

Gene's jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath before answering. 'Fine. Just eat the food and drink the tea. I'll be back in a minute and if you still insist on going I'll drive you round there.'

He dashed upstairs, and Alex took a swig of tea. Sugar and whisky. Nice. She took a bite of sandwich and suddenly realised she was ravenous. She downed the lot in five minutes, and felt better. She sighed and put her head back against the cushions, closing her eyes for a minute.

She woke when Gene picked her up. For a weak moment or two she clung to him, then came to as they started up the stairs. '_What_… put me down.' She wriggled like a cat facing the vet and forced him to stop or risk falling backwards. '_Put me down_.' She got one foot to a stair, and wrenched herself free of him.

He tried to shoo her upstairs. 'Go on your two feet, then. Up, Bolly. _Mush_.'

'You said you'd take me to Astrid.'

'You were awake then. When I came down you were fast asleep. You're virtually asleep on your feet now. Look at you. Your knees are shaking, for god's sake. Just get into bed and go to sleep. I've put clean sheets on so you might as well be in a hotel. Go _on_, Bolly.'

'Stop bullying me.'

'If you accepted help instead of being so pigging stubborn, I wouldn't have to.'

'I'm perfectly all ri…'

'Oh, for fuck's sake, woman.' He tipped her over his shoulder, and ignoring the squawks, carried her the rest of the way up and tipped her on to the bed; she immediately struggled to her feet. Gene put both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down. 'Look, Tigger. Stop bouncing. It's a clean bed in a clean house with no-one here but a friend.'

'Depends what you mean by friend.'

'Come again?'

'We don't talk any more. We don't work on the same cases. I don't know what's going on in your life, and you're not interested in mine. We don't spend any time together off-duty, not even in Luigi's. So no, I don't think we're friends, really.'

'Oh, charming. So what am I?'

'The Guv. An ally. I trust you.'

'Do you now.' His raised eyebrow challenged her.

'Yes, of course I do.'

'Could have fooled me.'

'What?'

'You don't tell me when you're threatened. You refuse my help. You won't even willingly stay in my house. What would you think, if you were me?'

'You threw me out the only other time I was here. Poured scorn on my offer of help. Wouldn't talk to me.' She looked at him defiantly. 'I'd say we're quits.'

There was a long silence as they glared at each other. Then Gene's face cracked with a disbelieving laugh. 'I've missed this. It's been so sodding boring without you giving me grief.' He bent down and picked up her right foot, then her left, pulling her boots off; pulled a drawer open and chucked a white t-shirt to her. 'Come on, Mrs Peel, into bed with you. No more avenging tonight.'

He left her to it, and she gave in to kindness and exhaustion. But she was still awake and sitting up when he peered round the bedroom door half an hour later. Wearing his t-shirt and with her face clean of make-up, she looked defenceless. 'Why aren't you asleep, Bolls?'

'Things on my mind.'

'Want an ear?'

'Have you got one?'

'Two, actually. Both available for chewing.' He padded across to her, bare feet silent on the rug, whisky bottle and two glasses in one hand. He'd discarded jacket and tie; with sleeves rolled up and a few buttons undone, he looked cool and relaxed, at home in his own space as he poured the scotch and handed her a glass. She tucked her feet under her as Gene sat on the end of the bed, and after taking a sip of whisky, put her glass down.

He took a swig from his glass.'Ray phoned. SOCO commented on your choice of coffee brand.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Blue granules in the Gold Blend.' He took another drink and watched her face. She looked blank. 'Rat poison, Bolls. They noticed a few granules on the worktop, and saw the top was off the coffee jar. Maddox had tipped a packet of poison into it. No sign of the rat, by the way. We'll get Luigi to send Rentokil in.'

Alex's eyes were on his face but she was seeing something else, as she realised what his news meant. Her jaws clenched tight; then her face crumpled and she hid behind her hands, hunched over, trying desperately to control her emotions, and failing.

Gene put his glass down and shifted up the bed, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. 'It's okay, Bolls. You're safe here.'

The softly-spoken words didn't seem to help. She hugged her knees, burying her face on her arms, shaking with the effort of keeping her tears in check. Gene squeezed her shoulder and murmured vague words of comfort for the minute or so it took her to regain control.

She pulled away from him, sniffing, scrubbing at her face with the heels of her hands. 'Sorry. Sorry…' She took a deep breath and looked at him. 'Rat poison… He must really hate me.' She rubbed her forehead. 'How could I have been so _stupid_.'

'Shhh. He's a dickhead who has to frighten women to make himself feel like a man.'

Alex shook her head. 'I'm a police woman, for god's sake. How come I didn't realise?'

'We all make mistakes. Sometimes we marry 'em. At least you didn't get that far.'

She glared at him. 'Not this time, maybe, but I did once.'

'Me and all, Bolls. Here, drink up.' He handed her the glass of scotch, and she drank it obediently. 'Good girl. Better?'

'Mmm. Tired. Gene…'

'Hmmm?'

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you.'

'Hmph. Daft to keep things to yourself, Bolls.'

'Same to you. Why wouldn't you tell me what was wrong, a couple of weeks ago?'

He held her gaze for a moment. 'I got myself into something I couldn't get out of. It looked like a choice between the unthinkable or the intolerable.'

'Was it Erica?'

He didn't blink. 'What you said made the difference, Bolls, so thanks.'

'What did I say?'

'Piss or get off the pot, in effect.'

She looked none the wiser. 'Oh. Okay. You're welcome.'

'I'll tell you the whole story some time. Now go to sleep. We can talk tomorrow.' He patted her leg beneath the duvet. 'Sweet dreams, Alex. Only sweet dreams in this house.'

He turned at the bedroom door and saw her smiling at him. 'Night.'

'Night, Gene. Thank you.'

'Any time, Bolls.'

He turned out the light, and leaving the door ajar, left her to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following weekend they were all in on Saturday afternoon clearing out their festering in-trays, sorting through paperwork so neglected it should have been reported to Social Services. Alex had told Gene that if he demanded it of his team, they could expect the same from him. Word had seeped though from the Yard that there was going to be a purge on slack record-keeping, and that in the current mood of suspicion created by the fourth year of Operation Countryman, any slippage in discipline could bring the Inquisition down on them. The Countryman investigation had been entrusted to Dorset Constabulary, and the Met bitterly resented being scrutinised by the rural detectives.

'Stuff the Swedey. They should be digging up turnips, not bothering us.' Gene was putting on a defiant face, but he was in with the rest of them, grimacing at the teetering pile throwing a long shadow over his desk.

The whingeing from the rest of the team was stopping her concentrating, so Alex reached for her Walkman, put the headphones on and retreated behind a wall of music.

An hour or so later, she was steaming through the backlog when Gene loomed over her desk and whipped the headphones off her head. 'What are you listening to?' He held the headphones to one ear for a moment and grunted, hearing an orchestra in full flow. About to give the things back to her he frowned and listened to more. A puzzled look on his face, he put the headphones on, picked up the Walkman and wandered off without a word, closing his door behind him.

Amused and annoyed in equal measure, Alex watched through the glass as he sat back and put his feet on his desk, listening. After half an hour she closed the file she'd been working on, slapped it on top of her Out tray and went to recover her Walkman. Gene pushed the headphones off his ears as his DI put her head round the door. 'Yes, Bolls?'

'Still listening, Guv?'

'Uh-huh.'

'Like it, then?'

'Mmm. Haven't heard it since I was a kid.'

'At school?'

'Home. Well, my nan's.'

'Musical family?'

'Family von Trapp, that was us. Nuns and Nazis for generations back.'

'Sorry. Only asking. Can I have my Walkman back now?'

'What's it called?'

'A Walkman.'

'The music, Drake.'

She smirked at him. '_Land of the mountain and the flood_. Hamish McCunn.'

'Hamish Mc-_what_?'

'McCunn. C-U-double-N.'

'Double N. Close shave.' He removed the headphones, picked up the little black machine and handed it to her, his eyes narrowed.

She gave him one of her infuriatingly smug looks and went back to her desk, smiling to herself.

Since her run-in with Maddox, she'd been on better terms with the Guv. They never did have the promised talk the next day – they'd been called in to a shooting in Spitalfields first thing, and the chance was lost. But things were different after that; whatever had gone wrong between them seemed to have healed over.

Alex was back under the Guv's watchful eye and in the firing line for good-natured teasing; but no sexual innuendo, no desire in his eyes any more. Like having an older brother around, he was critical, irritating, bossy and patronising, but woe betide anyone else having a go at her. It wasn't like he was fighting her battles for her, more like making it clear that anyone taking on DI Drake was taking on DCI Hunt and the rest of CID too. Alex realised how much she'd missed it, being under Gene's wing. She hadn't appreciated it before, but it had felt pretty damned cold when he'd given her the independence she'd demanded.

They were both at Luigi's more often, although they'd be at the one big table with whoever else was in. Alex had dumped Ulf Neumann, hadn't seen Gordon since the drama over Maddox, and didn't have the energy to look for a new interest.

Don Maddox was on remand in Wandsworth, Gene having pulled every string to make damn sure he didn't get bail. Turned out the police sergeant had a history of freaky behaviour, and when the investigating team had spoken to the former Mrs Maddox and a couple of ex girlfriends, his horizons became very narrow. According to Ray Carling, the best odds on Maddox's address for the next decade were on Strangeways, Parkhurst or Wakefield.

Having got her Walkman back, so able to shut out all distractions, Alex's in-tray almost empty by midday, and she was going through Time Out looking for something to see that evening with Astrid. But what was on at the Electric Cinema in Portobello Road was right up the street of a certain lawman. She circled it and took it into Gene's office, saying nothing but dropping it on his desk with a waggle of her eyebrows and a hint of a smile. Gene glared at her, jaw jutting, thinking she'd just added to his heap of misery. Alex grinned and skipped off out of range.

Mid-afternoon, she was waiting for the kettle to boil when Gene sloped in with her Time Out and waved it at her. 'Thanks, Bolls. My idea of a good time, that.'

'James Stewart triple bill? I thought you wouldln't be able to resist.' She smiled.

'You seen 'em?'

'Seen Destry. Not the others.'

'Want to come, then?'

'Three westerns on the trot?' She was caught on the hop, surprised by the invitation and by her reaction to it. Wanted to say yes. Wanted to see Gene in his element.

His face creased into a smile. 'Yeah. Great, eh? All afternoon.' He thought she looked unconvinced. 'Lunch first, if you like.'

'If we go dutch.'

He shrugged. 'Yeah, course.' He paused for a second. 'No big deal. Something to do tomorrow afternoon, that's all.'

'Good. Fine. Okay, then.' She shrugged as though she didn't mind one way or another. As though spending the afternoon with him was only fractionally more appealing than cleaning out the kitchen cupboards. As though she hadn't suddenly got a flotilla of butterflies flying stunts through her innards.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

TBC

_Thanks so much for lovely reviews - they spur me on and make me come over all unnecessary. Looking forward to seeing what you think of this chapter..._


	3. Pax

_Thanks, as ever, to Wombledon, Queen Beta_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Half way down Portobello Road, in the heart of the Sunday market, the Electric was a relic of the 1920s silent era, still in its original state; red plush seating falling to bits, nobody much there, a veil of cigarette smoke hanging from the ceiling, with plastic cups of tea and fruit cake to keep them going through _Destry Rides Again_ and _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance_. In _The Rare Breed_, when Jimmy Stewart finds the longhorn cow and her Hereford calf standing on the ridge, defiantly alive, Alex stopped trying to pretend she wasn't crying and wept, unashamed. She felt an arm settle against her back, Gene's hand squeezing her shoulder briefly. Glanced to her left, she saw his face softened, eyes suspiciously shiny. She leant against him in a companionable sort of nudge, but he kept his eyes on the screen, lost in the wintery grasslands of pioneer America.

As the last of the credits rolled, Gene stood up, clearing his throat and fishing in his pockets for fags and lighter. 'Pub.'

Six thirty on a Sunday evening, and the Countess of Elgin was stuffed with market stallholders gossiping about their day. Alex and Gene saw a couple leaving and nipped in to grab their table. By eight o'clock and a modest two pints Gene was ravenous, and they moved up and over Notting Hill to a place at the bottom of Kensington Church Street where an Australian chef cooked chunky homemade burgers over a raw flame, and made ambrosian trifle. At the smell of good food Alex realised how hungry she was, and the two of them ate till they were pleasantly stuffed. They were still talking when the manager wanted to shut up shop at eleven fifteen, and continued as Gene drove through Sunday night London. Only when they rattled across Tower Bridge did the conversation peter out, and they sat for a long minute outside Luigi's, listening to the engine tick as it cooled.

Gene broke the silence. 'Thanks for your company.'

'You too. A good day. Enjoyed it.'

'Yeah.' He cleared his throat. 'You okay to go up? I'm just going to nip in and see what's what.' He nodded towards the station.

'Course.' She got out and put a hand on the car roof as he locked it. 'Goodnight, Gene.'

'Sleep well, Bolls.'

'You too.' She patted the car, threw Gene a smile, and headed across the road. Didn't look back, so she didn't see Gene watch till the light flicked on at the second floor window. He smiled to himself, and ran up the steps into the station.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following Wednesday PC Tom Broadbent rang through to Alex. 'Ma'am. You asked me to let you know if there was another arson attack.'

A week earlier, a corner shop in Brick Lane had been targeted by a trio of thugs with malice and lighter fuel, with the shopkeeper suffering minor burns to her hands and several hundred pounds of damage to stock and fitments. Ray had dismissed it. 'Pissy little vandals winding up the Pakis,' was his judgement, and he turned it back to uniform. Alex, incensed at his crass insensitivity, had asked the young PC to keep her informed. Armed with the details of that day's attack, Alex took Chris with her and drove up Commercial Street, parking in White's Row outside the shop.

'Three of them, wearing masks of some animal. Dog, cat, maybe. All white. Young. One had red hair. He was disgusting.' The woman, a Mrs Amina Rahman, couldn't hide her revulsion at having to explain. 'He kept… breaking wind. And every time he did so, he giggled. A high-pitched giggle like a child.'

The trio had pushed their way into the shop as soon as the papers had been delivered just after six, squirted lighter fuel on to the bundles, thrown down a lit match and run. Mrs Rahman had put out the flames with a tea towel, burning her fingers in the process. 'It is nothing. But they could have burned the shop down.' She looked uncomfortable.

'What it is, Mrs Rahman?' Alex prompted her.

'They... threw… something at me as they ran out of the door. Wait.' She went into the back and brought out a Smarties carton covered in a cloth. 'This.'

Alex pulled off the cover and recoiled in disgust. 'Oh. My _god_.'

Chris peered in. 'Bloody hell. Is that…?'

'A bull's penis. I think.' Alex grimaced at the thought.

'That's 'orrible.' For a moment the DC looked as if he might throw up.

Mrs Rahman put the cloth back over the box. 'They assume I am Hindu.'

Chris frowned. 'What's that got to do…?'

Alex explained quickly. 'To Hindus, the cow is a sacred animal. So this would be a gross insult.'

'Sacred or not sacred, it is still a gross insult.' Mrs Rahman's anger had overridden her fear.

'There was an arson attack on another shop near here…'

'Mr Sengupta, opposite the mosque. Yes, he was the first. And Mr Lalwani, in Commercial Street.'

Alex was puzzled. 'A third shop? We've had no report.'

'No. He did not bother to call the police.' She made the implication very clear.

Alex handed her keys to Chris. 'Wait for me in the car. I won't be a second.' Once the DC had left the shop, Alex smiled at the shopkeeper. 'Mrs Rahman… Have you had trouble with the police, or is it more that you find we aren't as responsive as you'd like?'

Mrs Rahman crossed her arms across her chest. 'Why do you think I would tell you?'

'Because I can do something about it. Because not all individuals think or behave the same even if we work for the same organisation.' Alex held the other woman's gaze until Mrs Rahman sighed and began to talk.

xxxxxxxxxx

Having interviewed the two other shopkeepers, Alex and Chris went back to the station. 'Here, Guv.' Alex put the Smarties box on Gene's desk.

'What's this? Present?'

'In a matter of speaking.'

He whipped off the cloth cover and yelled in shock, pushing his chair back from the desk so hard it hit the wall. 'Jumping Jesus! What the fuck…' He glared at Alex, who elucidated.

'Three shops, Guv. All in the same area. All the same MO. All within a week. All by the same trio.'

'So?' He looked up at her standing over his desk like one of the Furies.

'So CID needs to take this on. If we don't stop them, someone's going to get badly injured.'

Gene had his thinking face on for a few moments, then looked up at her and took a deep breath. 'Yes, Bolls. You could be right. What do you suggest?'

Both Alex's eyebrows shot up in surprise. 'Er… talk to all the corner shops in the area. There may have been other arson attacks not reported, and there may be retailers who recognise the description of these lads. They don't seem to be very subtle.'

'Off you go, then. Keep me informed.'

'Thanks, Guv.'

The smile surprised out of her pinged back at him, warming him to his toes.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Job for you, Shaz.' Alex drew the girl to one side. 'Get yourself round to the Town Hall. I need you to do some digging.' She explained what she wanted, and Shaz nipped off.

It took Alex's foot soldiers half a day to get the names of the three arsonists; they were so universally loathed by the local populace that the usual reluctance to help the police went out of the window. They'd been a pain in the arse of the local community since they were old enough to throw stones.

The ginger farting giggler was Rufus Tyndall, a 22 year old skinhead with one brain cell more than a sea cucumber. The local snitches reckoned that he was attached at the hip to Lance Gerrard, same age, same IQ – a startlingly fast sprinter, with a large port wine stain around his right eye. The third was Gerrard's twin brother Arthur, and Alex left Ray to chase them down. It didn't take long – the trio were found playing arcade games in the Blind Beggar on Whitechapel Road, and were rounded up with distressing ease.

Ray had left Chris to process the trio through custody and came to update Gene and Alex. 'We'd been hoping they'd put up a bit of a fight, Guv, but I don't think they twigged we were Fuzz until they heard the cuffs click shut. Thick as pigshit, the lot of them. Ought to be ashamed, drinking in the Beggar. What would Reg and Ronnie think, eh?'

Gene grimaced. 'The youth of today, Ray. No idea of criminal history. Disgraceful. Don't ask them any difficult questions, now. No more than two syllables or their heads might come off.'

'Okay, Guv.' The burly sergeant headed off to squeeze the three pips till they squeaked.

Even though questioned separately, the Gerrard twins had enough brain to know that staying schtum was the smart option, but Tyndall was a snivelling worm without his mates to back him up; too scared to respond to Ray Carling's interrogation, Tyndall eventually confided gratefully to an apparently sympathetic WPC Granger.

'What he said was,' Shaz leafed through her notebook, _'What you bothered about a bunch of Pakis for anyhow.'_ She read the words off the page with obvious disgust. _'We was told coppers wasn't fussed about a few wogs. But keep away from the whites cos they have to take notice then.'_

'Who told him that?' Alex asked.

'Wouldn't say, Ma'am. He said he didn't know why he was being kept here because the copper was meant to give them a bollocking and let them go.'

'What?' Gene poked his head forward. 'Which copper?'

Shaz shrugged. 'Sorry, Guv. I really don't think he knows.'

'All right, Granger. Thanks.

Alex turned to Gene. 'There's more to this than racism, Guv.'

Gene gazed at Alex, eyes narrowed. 'What have you been up to, Bolls?'

'Had a hunch, Guv.' The truth was that Alex had heard bells ringing. White's Row had sparked a vague memory, and it had taken her a while to pin it down. She'd been involved in a case there about five years earlier… or rather twenty-one years in the future. August 2003. A suspected fraud. But it had been an ugly brick and glass office block, not a three storey Victorian terrace. She didn't tell Gene any of that. 'I sent Shaz round to the planning department. There's a scheme to pull down three buildings on that side of White's Row for redevelopment. Mrs Rahman said her landlord had been trying to get her to give up her lease for the last six months, but she's got another two years to go. It's a good location.'

Gene sniffed. 'Poxy developers. Cheaper to scare her out than pay her off. What about the other two shops attacked?'

'Nothing. Only link is that the retailers are Asian. Maybe they were just to confuse the scent.'

'Landlord's name?'

'Landlady, actually. Believe it or not, a Mrs Gloria Mundy.'

His eyebrows shot up. 'Her with the diseased van?'

'The sick transit? That's the one.' She was grinning.

Gene yelled for Ray, and briefed him about the rogue landlord. 'Take Granger with and sniff around. I want you rooting through Gloria Mundy's life like a boar after truffles.'

xxxxxxxxxxxx

After their Western movie afternoon, Alex challenged Gene to an LSO concert at the newly-opened Barbican. He squared up to her and accepted, secretly praying that she didn't pick something that would make him rip out his eardrums. But Alex chose well, and she'd got them seats in the choir stalls, right behind the timpanist so they could watch the conductor. Gene didn't reckon the programme sounded promising, but the Shostakovich Jazz Suite was lush and romantic or comic and whimsical, all with such a strong rhythm that Alex noticed Gene swaying in time.

The first half ended with Grieg's Holberg Suite, and the last section, a lively rigandon, brought such a smile to his face that Alex was intrigued. At the interval, queueing for drinks, Gene was still smiling.

Alex couldn't stand the itch of curiosity. 'What're you grinning about, Mr Hunt?'

'That last bit. My grandparents had that record during the war. We used to dance around to it, our kid and me. Our nan said we were like a pair of little trolls, capering round the room.' He glanced at her before looking back to the past. 'He was a music teacher, my granddad. He'd play the piano and our nan would sing. All through the war, Mum would take us over there every Saturday afternoon and there'd be music in the house. This music. My dad wouldn't tolerate it when he was demobbed. Haven't heard it since. Not till tonight.'

The second half was even better. Sibelius's _Valse Triste_ and his fifth symphony unlocked more of Gene's past; Alex let the music wash through her but she watched him rather than the orchestra; saw the pure, powerful emotions of the music reflected in his face.

'I owe you one, Bolls. Can't believe I'd forgotten all that.' They were walking back to the car through the silent streets round the Barbican, and Gene had been quiet, lost in his thoughts.

'Glad you liked it.'

'Mmmm. Made a change from Jim Reeves.'

When they got back to Luigi's building, Alex tapped Gene's arm lightly before she opened the passenger door. 'Come up for a minute, Gene.'

He looked wary. 'It's late, Bolls. Early meeting with the divisional crime group in the morning.'

'Come on. One minute.'

Up in the flat Gene stood at the window, looking across the street at Fenchurch East, watching people come and go through the station entrance, willingly or otherwise.

Alex was rooting about in the corner. She hadn't offered him a drink, so he'd kept his coat on, not bothering to sit down.

'Here.' She held out a small stack of LPs, urging him to take them. 'You've got a hi-fi, haven't you? Tape them if you like. Borrow them for as long as you want.'

Gene leafed through them. Sibelius and Grieg – some of the music they'd heard that night. 'Thanks. You trying to civilise me?'

Alex shook her head dismissively. 'Impossible.' She flicked him a lazy grin and got an old fashioned look in return. Laughing softly, she took her coat off and flung it on the big swivel chair. 'You sure you won't stay for a drink? I've got a malt I've not tried yet.'

'Which one?'

'Fettercairn.'

'Never heard of it.'

'Got to try it, then.'

Gene sniffed. Put the LPs down and shrugged himself out of his coat, chucking it on top of Alex's. 'Go on then. Just a sniff.'

As she fetched whisky bottle and glasses from the kitchen, Alex called through to Gene. 'What's the crime group meeting about tomorrow?'

'The bad Home Office stats, officially. But it'll all be about what the Swedey's turning up in the Division. There's a DI and a DS sweating cobs about their bent little empires being demolished and their pensions with it. Stupid sods.'

'You talking about cosy arrangements with a few freebies here and there, or real meat-eating deviance?'

Gene took the glass Alex handed him, sat down on the sofa, and breathed in the scent of the spirit before taking a sip. He took his time, sifting through the layers of flavour as the whisky burst on his tongue, watching Alex as she drank. Once he'd let the spirit work its magic, he nodded appreciatively. 'Hmm. Different. Where's the distillery?'

'East coast. Kincardineshire. Like it?'

Gene thought about it. 'Sweet. Smooth. Nutty. Caramel.'

'Vanilla, too. Very smooth. Not bad. Easy to drink.'

'Bit too easy. Could get drunk on this. Not much of a challenge.'

'You think it's a girl's drink, don't you?'

He snorted. 'Not falling for that, Bolls.'

She smiled her Mona Lisa smile and sat at the other end of the sofa. There was a long moment as they drank, watching each other over the rims of the glasses.

Alex took a deep breath. 'Bit too easy. Not much of a challenge. Is that how I'm thought of, Gene?'

'What are you talking about, Bolls?'

'Maddox bought me this.'

He nodded, understanding her. 'He didn't know you, though, did he? Only saw the obvious. Bad mistake.' He gazed at her from behind his poker face.

To stop herself blushing, she switched back to work mode. 'So what about these bent DIs? Meat-eaters or grass-eaters?' Her voice sounded quite normal, she thought.

'Grass-eaters. Idle and greedy. Made themselves comfortable, turning a blind eye where it doesn't show. Bad coppers, but not worth sacking. Nastier bastards in the Met to worry about.'

After a moment, Alex looked him in the eye. 'Do you worry about us?'

'Us? You mean the team?'

She nodded. 'Countryman's bound to get round to us sooner or later.'

Gene tipped his head from side to side. 'Maybe. Chris is naïve and a soft target; Ray isn't exactly pristine, and he gets complacent. But I know 'em, and I can keep an eye on 'em. The locals we inherited? Small potatoes. We've all got our mump-holes and our little fan clubs. Even you, Bolly. But if the Swedey haven't got their turnip teeth into anything more corrupt than a few free chip butties and the odd advance warning, the press will kick the Home Secretary's head all round Parliament Square.'

Gene stretched his legs out and put his head back against the sofa cushion, sighing deeply. 'Every criminal in London is getting a free ride while we're dancing round our handbags fending off corruption allegations. What a bloody farce.'

Alex's blood fizzed gently, seeing him relaxed and at home on her sofa. First time for many months. She'd been afraid she'd lost whatever tentative friendship they'd established; feared she'd lose it again when he found the next Erica. Lose his company off-duty, anyway. With luck they could keep the working relationship going, if she didn't screw up. Not that she knew what she'd done wrong before.

'It was nice being able to forget about it all for a bit tonight. You looked as though you enjoyed it.'

He turned to look at her, a hint of a smile on his lips. 'Fishing, Bolls? You know I did. More than I expected. Well,' he shrugged, 'to be honest I didn't expect to enjoy it at all.'

'Why did you agree to come, then?'

'You stuck three Westerns on the trot, I thought I could stick a couple of hours of screeching violins.'

She chuckled. 'A matter of honour, eh?'

'Something like that.'

'But you knew the music.'

'Yeah. Sent me back forty years. Couldn't believe it.' He smiled into her eyes, one of his rare, warm, unguarded smiles that never failed to turn her bones to liquid.

'Now you know, you can start catching up. Always lots of good concerts on.'

'Wouldn't know where to start, Bolls. You'd have to point me in the right direction. Come along to make sure I don't put my size tens where they shouldn't be put.'

She shrugged, trying not to smile. 'S'pose I could. Yeah.'

The flat felt very warm, all of a sudden. They grinned at each other.

'Who'd a thowt it?' Gene lapsed into broad Lancastrian for a moment. 'You go all soppy over cowboy films, and I find my feet tapping to music by some unpronounceable Russkie.'

'What's the world coming to, eh, Gene?'

The phone rang, its shrill burble making them both jump. Alex didn't move.

Gene nodded towards the source of the noise. 'You not going to answer? Might be important.'

'I'll see who it is. If it's important I'll pick up.'

The answerphone cut in, and after the beep, a silky voice. Gordon Carr.

_'Alex, sweetie, sorry to ring so late, but I had to get in touch. Saw you tonight at the Barbican, but you were with someone. Haven't seen you for far too long, my dear. Hope your companion wasn't anyone special. I've missed you. Ring me.'_

Gene gave Alex the smile he used on Police Authority visitors. 'How nice. A music lover. You'd better ring him straight back.' He stood up and reached for his coat.

'No. I don't want… Gene, hang on…' Alex was on his heels as he headed to the front door. 'There's no rush, is there?'

He turned abruptly so she had to rear back to avoid crunching into him. 'As I said, I have an early meeting. Sleep well, Alex. Don't let the bed bugs bite.'

She heard the street door slam a minute later, and pushed her front door shut. When she went back into the sitting room she saw the LPs sitting on the coffee table where Gene had left them.

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_Please don't forget to review – always itching to know what you think... It's the only way I know what you like._


	4. 2Tone

_Thanks first and foremost to Wombledon for the betaVoice of reason. And thanks to all of you who are reading and reviewing – makes it worthwhile._

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Gene sat behind his desk with his arms crossed, waiting for Carling and Granger to spit out their latest gobbets of news on the Rahman case. Alex leant against the filing cabinet where she could see Gene's reactions.

Ray tipped his chair back against the wall, smirking round his cigarette as he let Shaz summarise their investigations. 'It's nice this, Guv, you'll love it. Go on, Shazzer.'

'Bit of a family affair, Guv. Turns out Mrs Mundy…'

'Sick Transit Gloria…' chorused the two men; the women swapped impatient glances – that joke had worn a little thin.

Shaz tried again. 'Mrs Mundy has a sister called Vivi Gerrard, mother of Lance and Arthur.'

Alex clarified, for the Guv's benefit. 'The skinhead twins we've got banged up for arson.'

'Yes, thank you, Miss Marple, I think I worked that out.' Gene was in a snappish mood.

Shaz kept going. 'The idea was to scare Mrs Rahman into quitting her lease by making her think it was the start of a fascist campaign. That's why they attacked the other Asian newsagents as well.'

'So the ugly sisters told the lads and their mate Tyndall exactly what to do.' Gene was trying to hurry the recital along.

'Well, no, Guv.' Shaz looked embarrassed, and referred to her notebook to avoid Alex's gaze. 'They've got a copper in the family, and he was supposed to make sure the boys did enough damage to do the trick without arousing police interest.'

'As you said at the start, Ray.' Alex looked daggers at him. 'How did you put it? "Pissy little vandals winding up the Pakis", if I remember rightly. _So_ sensitive.'

'Accurate, Drake. Uniform should have sorted it.' Gene snarled at her.

'That's the point, Guv.' Ray piped up, cigarette smoke spilling from his mouth as he spoke. 'Uniform _weren't_ supposed to sort it, because our Gloria and her kid sister had an inside man. Just a shame it all went tits up because of bad timing. Their tame copper weren't available for bending the law because he'd been his own brand of stupid a few days earlier.' He waggled his eyebrows at Shaz, nodding at her to continue.

'Sorry Ma'am. Gloria Mundy and Vivi Gerrard had the maiden name Maddox.'

Gene shouted with laughter, then saw Alex's face, and turned the laugh into an ill-disguised cough. 'Very neat. Well done, Granger. Let's the get the paperwork done pronto, and we can let Her Majesty take pleasure in banging up the whole Maddox clan.' He clapped his hands together gleefully. 'Pub, Raymondo.'

The four of them split along gender lines; DCI Hunt and his DS vanished with beer and god knows what else on their minds, and the two women headed for the kitchen and Alex's secret stash of chocolate.

It had been two days since her night out at the Barbican with Gene, and the sour ending to the evening. In an attempt to find an olive branch, Alex had taped the Grieg and Sibelius on two ninety-minute BASF cassettes and left them on Gene's desk the next day. He never mentioned them, although Alex noticed they'd gone from his desk. She didn't stoop to checking his bin, although the mood he was in, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd thrown them away. She knew she'd done nothing to offend him to this degree, and was pissed off with him for being so mercurial. She'd asked him what was wrong the previous day, then wishes she hadn't bothered.

'Wrong, Bolly? Apart from the mortgage rate, Countryman, the war, Home Office statistics, and the fact that the World Cup's in Spain next month but the bastards upstairs won't give me any time off because every other bastard has booked their holidays ahead of me? Not a thing. Certainly nothing that involves you. My world doesn't revolve round Alex Drake, oddly enough.'

She didn't believe him. There had to be some reason he was so off with her. At the Barbican and in her flat afterwards they'd been relaxed and happy in each other's company, then he was up and gone like he'd been bitten. The only thing that happened between one state and the other was the phone call from Gordon Carr. Couldn't have been that. Gordon was old news, and anyway she hadn't picked up the phone – which she'd have thought Gene would appreciate, the oaf.

Clearly not. So the entente cordiale had dissolved back into a cool détente. It hadn't gone unnoticed by the sharp-eyed Shaz, nor by the canny Carling, who was quick enough to wedge himself into the breach between his two senior officers.

At least today was over, and she didn't have to think about Gene till the morning. Once she'd got herself outside a few squares of Galaxy and a cup of tea, Alex felt a bit more mellow, and Shaz seized her chance to tread on eggshells.

'Er… is everything all right? Between you and the Guv, I mean.'

Alex tipped her chair back against the wall and growled in exasperation. 'Don't ask me, Shaz. How the hell would I know? One minute we're fine, the next he's taken the hump over god knows what. I've given up trying to work out how his middle-aged Mancunian mind ticks.' She let the chair legs drop to the ground with a thud and stood up. 'Oh, sod it. Shall we go and get pissed?'

'Normally I'd be right there, but my mum's cooking tea for me and Chris…'

'Does Chris know how lucky he is, Shaz?'

She looked at Alex through her eyelashes. 'Yes, Ma'am. I remind him most days.'

Laughing, they left the office together.

Alex opted for a movie with her barrister chum Astrid, and they scared themselves witless watching _Wait until dark_ at the Scala. It was the wrong movie to watch, Alex decided later, as she got ready for bed. She'd forgotten the plot; the only time she'd seen it before was with Pete, when they were first going out. A video, some cheap red wine, and they got distracted after ten minutes. She'd forgotten the knife-wielding psycho terrorising a woman in her own flat: a bit too close to recent events for comfort. So Alex dreamed of a man with a knife chasing her round the flat by the light of the open fridge; a giant rat stuffed with drugs and a tall fair-haired rescuer who turns out to be an enemy. She woke wide-eyed, stifling a scream in the darkness.

She got up, put the kettle on, put the World Service on, made tea. Sat in the kitchen and drank it. Looked at the clock. One fifty-three. Twisted the dial on the radio to see if there was anything else but sanctimonious journalists warbling about Argentina. Not in 1982. Oh, for Janice Long. Switched the radio off. Music. She hadn't put the LPs back after taping them, so she stuffed the Sibelius Fifth on the hi-fi. Except it was the wrong side, and _Valse Triste_. Which made her cry, so she reached for the Fettercairn. She slugged back three fingers of scotch, then remembered Gene's comment. 'Bit too easy.' Which made her cry more, before falling asleep on the sofa.

She woke when the rat came for her with the knife. Shivering, she got up to make another cup of tea. Looked at the clock: three-seventeen. She heard raised voices in the street and looked out of the window to see plods and drunks doing the custody dance.

The phone rang and she started like a hare then stood transfixed for two rings until the answerphone kicked in.

'Bolly? You there?'

She darted across the room and snatched up the phone. 'Gene? Hang on...' She stabbed at the answerphone to turn it off. 'Sorry… you still there?'

'Yes, Bolls.'

'What's up? Need me to come in?'

'No. Relax. I was about to leave and I noticed your light on.'

'You're still in the office?'

'Had things to do. You got company?'

'No.'

'You okay?'

Her brain was racing. Why was he ringing? 'Er… yeah.'

'You don't sound sure.'

'Couldn't sleep. Nightmares, that's all.'

'About Maddox?'

'Mmm.'

'He's tucked up in Pentonville, Bolls. Can't hurt you.'

'I know.

Silence.

'Gene?'

'What?'

'Want to come up for a bit? Before you go home. Have one for the road.'

There was such a long silence that she thought the line had gone dead. 'Gene? You there?'

She heard him sigh, but there was still a long beat before he spoke. 'Go back to bed, Alex. Get some sleep. No more nightmares now.' His voice was no more than a rumble. 'Sleep, Drake. That's an order.'

He hung up; she put the phone down and went to the window. Saw him emerge from the station, stop on the top step to light a fag. He tipped his head back to blow a stream of smoke into the cold air, and looked up at her window. Saw his face as he realised she was watching him. Frowning, he stabbed a finger at her and mimed _Bed_. She nodded, and lifted a hand to him. He made a shooing gesture, and was obviously waiting for her to obey. She went to turn the light out, but sneaked back to the window. He was still there, waiting; he knew her too well. He shook his head in defeat, got into the Quattro and drove off.

To her surprise, Alex went straight to sleep; if there were dreams, she remembered none of them and woke feeling well rested.

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For the rest of that week there was a truce, at least; no sniping at each other.

They swept up Gloria Mundy and her sister and dumped them in with the rubbish at Holloway while the Gerrard twins and Tyndall were sent to the Scrubs to await trial. Alex heard later that there was a party in White's Row to celebrate, after which the widowed Mrs Rahman and the lonely Mr Lalwani apparently continued celebrating in private. One good thing to come out of the mess, she thought.

The following Monday morning, Chris buttonholed Alex in the kitchen. 'Boss. Er, Shaz told me to tell you something.'

'Spit it out then, Chris. Where is Shaz, anyway?'

'Doctor's, Boss. Check-up, you know…' He fizzled out, blushing. Some gynae problem, then, Alex inferred.

'What have you got to tell me, Chris?'

He blushed a deeper crimson. 'Er… well, it's… er, not…'

'Shaz told you to tell me something.' Alex pinned him with a look and spoke firmly.

'Oh. Ah. Yes. I was at the Marillion gig at the Marquee –'

'_Marillion_? Fish, and that lot?' Alex giggled. 'Bloody hell. Sorry, Chris. Go on.'

'You know Fish, Boss?' Chris was clearly impressed with Alex's knowledge of up and coming prog rock front men.

'Mmm. And what about the gig, Chris?'

'Oh, yes. There was this bloke, right, totally blootered…'

'I don't need the story of the whole night, Chris. Just the relevant bits.'

'Okay.' He thought for a moment. 'Right. Next Saturday. There's a 2-Tone Anti-Apartheid gig at the Red Cow in Whitechapel.' He stopped to draw breath, and looked at Alex for approval.

'Good, Chris – what about it?'

'Going to be trouble. Bunch of National Front skins planning to crash it and break a few heads.'

'Weapons?'

'Not guns. He didn't know about other stuff.'

'How many?'

'Don't know, Boss, but enough NF to create a bit of havoc.'

'How many at the gig?'

'Hundred and fifty? Quite a big room above the pub.'

'Thanks, Chris. Well done. Seen the Guv this morning?'

'He's off, Boss. Dentist. Wisdom tooth giving him gyp, Ray says.'

Exploiting Gene's absence, Alex went straight to the Chief Super to approve an undercover sting, knowing Gene would give her hell for going over his head, but knowing also that Marsden would eventually say yes while DCI Hunt would immediately say no.

Having got the nod from the Chief Super, Alex recruited Shaz and Chris to act as wardrobe supervisors, and come Saturday evening the team, suited and booted, were ready to roll. The only person missing was Gene, and everyone was getting twitchy waiting for him.

Suffering from the dentist, he had not been happy last Monday when he heard the news, and had ripped Alex's head off for going to Marsden instead of consulting him. But he didn't stop the operation, and he opted to lead it rather than put Alex in charge.

During the week the team had been digging for more intelligence on the likely troublemakers. The gig was listed in Time Out's Agitprop section, so it had a clearly political agenda – not surprising since the ANC's offices in Islington had been firebombed in March. A political agenda didn't have to mean trouble, especially in the anti-partheid campaign, which was firmly non-violent. But young men full of strong opinions and strong beer, offered violence, were likely to return it, however sincere their pacifist leanings. The militant group Chris had heard about were known as the Wasps, and they had a nasty reputation even amongst right-wingers.

Alex looked round at the team. Between them, their outfits covered a fair spread of the street fashion spectrum from Ray in white t-shirt, braces, cut off jeans and Doc Martens, to DC Oliver Haan, known affectionately as Black Olive, who looked sharp as hell in a Ska suit and porkpie hat. Chris Skelton was in black jodhpurs, white shirt, bowtie, flat cap and shades, and Shaz wore a tight Union Jack t-shirt under a nipped-in denim jacket, with denim mini, fishnets, and cherry red DMs. She'd got whistled at when she swanned in to CID, whereas Alex got a stunned silence. In bleach-spattered jeans, black t-shirt under black bomber jacket, DMs, her hair slicked back with gel and face pale but for heavy black eyeshadow, she looked little short of psychotic.

Eventually Gene pushed through the double doors to a ragged cheer from his waiting crew. In a crombie and lovat green trilby, with the hardest of stony expressions on his face, the big copper would have given the Krays a run for their money in the Tough stakes.

'Ay ay! It's Jack the Hat, back from the grave!' Carling heckled from the kitchen doorway, but Gene ignored him.

Their DCI looked round the room, lip curled. 'Hawley Harvey Crippin. Look at you bunch of tossers. Talk about the Rumble in the Jumble.' He sighed like a walrus and pushed himself away from the door, shouldering to the centre of the room. 'Listen and learn. Keep your heads. I don't want anyone getting their blood up. We're there to stop trouble, not start it. Understand me, Carling?'

'Course, Guv.' Ray nodded.

'And you, Granger. I don't want you trying to prove you're as tough as your male colleagues. I know you're tough, Skelton knows you're tough. You have nothing to prove, so find a good spec and keep 'em peeled.'

Shaz failed to suppress a grin.

Gene continued. 'There'll be a van full of uniform parked in Green Dragon Yard waiting for the word from myself or DI Drake. Any sign of any weapon and we start arresting people. Do not respond to provocation. Do not judge members of the public by their attire.' He looked pointedly at Chris. 'Sometimes a prat looks like a prat, but not always.'

The Red Cow was only a ten minute walk from Fenchurch East, but they took two cars and parked in Green Dragon Yard next to the unmarked police van full of plods; the CID team scattered in different directions so they didn't get to the pub together, leaving Gene to have a quick word with Sergeant Allam.

'Hope you've all got flasks and butties, Roger. It may be a while before we're ready for you.'

'Don't worry, Mr Hunt. We've all brought our tatting and we have a medley of glees to sing if we get bored.'

Gene chuckled and clapped Allam on the shoulder. 'Good man.'

The pub was rammed, skinheads next to dreadlocks, mods drinking with punks, reggae boys and goth girls rubbing shoulders, all in a common cause. Alex was in her element, as was Shaz – albeit for different reasons.

The first two sets by the Higsons and Selecter were trouble free, the happy crowd jumping around in the smoky, beery atmosphere. It was just before midnight that Alex noticed a bunch of skinheads come up the stairs, all wearing yellow and black t-shirts. Wasps. She pushed through to where Gene was standing and made him look round. No point in trying to talk over the noise, but he didn't need telling. Apart from the yellow stripes, the group's body language was all aggression and malicious intent.

In the comparative silence between numbers, Gene leaned close to Alex and put his mouth to her ear. 'Carling's enjoying himself, the dickhead. Go and kick his arse and remind him he's working.' She nodded, and started to push into the crowd. Gene grasped her arm and she turned back to him. 'Watch yourself, Bolls.'

Despite his irritatingly paternalistic attitude, she had to admit to the warmth threading through her body at his show of concern for her. She weaved through the press of bodies towards Sgt Bovver Boy but was still fifteen feet away from him when a shout went up and it all kicked off. As the scrapping started and the crowd movement changed like a sudden squall at sea, Alex looked for the Fenchurch team; spotted Shaz up by the stage, Oliver Haan in the middle of a group of sharp-suited ska boys, and Chris by the door to the bogs. Gene had pushed through to one of the Wasps and with a hand squeezing the back of the man's neck, was issuing a strong warning, by the looks of it.

Alex heard Ray's voice raised in anger, and turned to see him react to whatever was said by a lanky man with dreadlocks. In any edgy situation Ray only had two instinctive reactions: laugh at it or hit it. He lashed out at the West Indian and the man staggered back, knocking a shaven-headed man off balance. In an instant there was a knot of men pushing and kicking and grunting at each other, trying to land punches.

Alex lunged at Ray, managing to grab a handful of t-shirt, and yanked him away from the dreadlocks. He swore later that he didn't hear her shout his name, and only felt somebody grab him. The adrenalin was racing; instinct spun him round, fist raised, and before he could stop himself, landed a right hook to the side of her jaw, sending her crashing backwards into a speaker stack and down to the floor.

She lay for a second, winded and semi-conscious, a spinning confusion of noise and pain and flashing lights. Then Ray was beside her, helping her sit up, alarm in the blue eyes, muttering something, her name, maybe. She struggled to sit up, get her legs beneath her, but they wouldn't work properly. Then a rush of movement and an enraged roar, and Gene dragged Ray to his feet before throwing a punch that sent the sergeant flying.

'Alex… Bolls...' Gene pulled her to her feet, but had to catch her as her knees buckled. Cursing at the state of her, he picked her up and pushed through the milling, scrapping crowd to the fire exit, shouldering through the door and making his way carefully down the metal stairs to the yard. Alex was deposited on a beer keg and felt Gene take her head between his hands and peer at her, frowning as he tried to look into her eyes.

'Shit. Can't see in this light. Bolls? How do you feel? Dizzy? Can you see straight?'

She tried to pull away from him, but the effort made her head spin and she almost tipped off her perch. Gene steadied her, a heavy hand on her shoulder.

'Christ, Bolls, you've probably got concussion. Bastard hit you hard.'

'I'll be all right, Guv. Give me five minutes. Fresh air and a bit of quiet and I'll be fine.'

'Too right. Here, Shaz, give me a hand.'

Shaz had followed them out and materialised at the Guv's elbow looking as worried as Minnie the Minx's mother.

Gene handed her his car keys. 'Get the door open.' He picked Alex up again and carried her through the piles of crates and kegs to the gate into Green Dragon Yard, and across to the Quattro. Sergeant Allam and a bunch of PCs crowded round, wanting to know what had happened, but Gene shooed them away. Setting Alex down, he lowered her into the passenger seat and squatted beside her. 'Do you feel sick? Talk to me, Alex.'

'If you let me get a word in edgeways, Guv…' She put a hand to her abused jaw and winced. 'Bruised, that's all. My head's buzzing, and I'm a bit shaky, but that's it. I'll be back there in a minute. You go – sort them out.'

Gene glared at her. 'You will not go back in there. Shaz – don't let her move. Not one inch till I get back. Understand?'

'Yes, Guv, don't worry.'

Alex raised a protest. 'Don't treat me like a child, Gene. I'll be fine in a minute.'

Gene swore under his breath and clenched his teeth in frustrated rage, then got to his feet. 'You're not up to the job, Drake. You're off the case for the rest of the night.' He turned and beckoned to the knot of uniformed officers standing by the van. 'Come on, you lot. Time to restore a bit of order.' He headed off at a run, sending a clutch of uniforms back up the fire exit and taking the rest round to the front.

Five minutes later the relative peace was exploded by the blare of sirens, announcing the arrival of more back-up. Alex opened the car door. 'Come on, Shaz, better get back. Make sure they're not cracking the wrong heads.'

'Ma'am! Hang on – you're not supposed to budge. The Guv'll kill me.' She scrambled out of the car and shot round to Alex's door, trying to stop her senior officer getting out. 'Please, Ma'am, get back in the car.'

Alex leaned against the Audi, hanging on to the open door. 'What rank are you, Shaz?'

'Detective Constable.'

'And what rank am I?'

'Detective Inspector.'

'I'm not going to break, Shaz. We don't want to miss out on this, do we?'

'Well no, Ma'am. But the Guv…'

'The Guv's a paternalistic chauvinist.'

'Maybe, but he's only worried about you. And Ray gave you quite a thump. You sure you're okay?

'Yeah. Everything aches, but most of me's in working order. Tell you what, though. I'm glad of these Doc Martens. I'd be rubbish in heels at the moment.' She grinned at Shaz and pushed herself upright. 'For god's sake lock the car. If it gets nicked the Guv _will_ kill us both.'

They went round to the front of the pub to find uniforms steering bodies out of the building and into one of four police vans parked outside, blue lights flashing; one man, bar towel clamped to his bleeding skull, was being carried into an ambulance. Alex and Shaz pushed their way inside and up the stairs to find the melée all but over, Sergeant Allam orchestrating the removal of the tired and emotional, and the CID crew parcelling up the last few Wasps.

Gene was refereeing a discussion between what Alex guessed was the pub landlord and two gig organisers, his back to the door. So it was Ray who saw Alex first, and came at a run across the room to her. 'Boss… Christ, I'm sorry –'

Alex put up a hand to stop him. 'Save it, sergeant.'

He was desperate to make his peace, but Alex didn't want to deal with him. 'Go away, Carling. Go. Away.'

Gene had heard Alex's voice, and left DC Haan to sort out the aggrieved landlord. 'What the fuck are you doing here, Drake? I gave you an order to stay in the car.'

'Yeah, yeah. Told you, Guv, I'm fine. Don't _fuss_.'

That sent him up to the rafters. 'I'm not _fussing_, Drake, I'm reprimanding you. You're worse than useless to your colleagues or the general public when you're not fit to stand upright. Look at you. You're white as a Rizla.'

'That's the make-up –'

His eyes flashed. 'Don't answer me back. You can go and wait for me in the car, or you can get a cab and go home on suspension. Up to you.' He spat the last three words at her, furious and implacable.

Alex knew there was no point in arguing, so she went back to the Quattro. Only when she got there did she realise that Shaz had the keys. The police van, however, was unlocked, and there was a flask tucked by the handbrake that sloshed when she shook it. Tea, tepid and sweet, but she drank the lot and hoped Sergeant Allam would forgive her. She looked at her watch. Ten past one. It might be half an hour before Gene could get away. Her head was banging, her bruised body ached, she was fed up, dreading the drive home, and above all, bone tired. She curled up and closed her eyes.

She was woken abruptly when Gene wrenched open the van door. 'Out, Drake.' He was clearly still furious. She slid out of the van carefully, blinking to clear her vision. Gene looked much like the dragon in whose yard they were standing, teeth clenched, fire behind his eyes, hand outstretched. 'Give me the keys. Why aren't you in the car, like I told you?'

'Haven't got the keys, Guv. That's why I was in the van.'

'Who's got 'em, then?'

'Didn't Shaz give them back to you?'

He looked for a second as though he'd go supernova.

She realised how stupid a question that had been. 'That's a no, then.'

He spoke through his teeth, jaw clamped tight. 'Granger's gone back to the station.'

Alex tried really hard to stop the giggle escaping her, but failed. It didn't help. 'Sorry, Guv.'

PC Bird lobbed up at that point, sent by Sergeant Allam to fetch the van and take the plods back to Fenchurch East. Gene collared him.

'George, you're taking DI Drake and me back to the station now. One of my defectives has taken my car keys.' He pushed Alex back into the van and scrambled in after her.

'Er, Mr Hunt, I've got to pick the lads up.'

'We're five minutes from Fenchurch East. They can walk back. DI Drake here needs to see the quack, pronto.'

George Bird couldn't do much but obey the order, and Sergeant Allam was miffed to see his lads' transport whizzing past him. Bird's radio buzzed within seconds; Gene grabbed it from the driver's hand. 'The walk'll do you all good, Roger. Out.'

Outside the station, Gene gave PC Bird some messages to deliver. 'Tell whoever's on the custody desk to keep the Wasps separated. I don't want them concocting a story for the morning. If necessary, send some up to Bethnal Green. Caution everybody else unless they were using a weapon of any kind, and send them home.' He took a breath. 'Tell WDC Granger to give my car keys to Sergeant Carling and tell Carling to go back and fetch my car immediately. He is to fetch it, understand me? He is not to delegate the task. Then tell him he's to write his report tonight, before he goes home. I want it on my desk first thing, without fail.'

'Yessir.' PC Bird wasted no time and was through the station doors in a flash.

'Right, Drake. Let's get you sorted.' Gene gestured her out of the van.

'I don't need "sorting", Guv. I'm fine.' She was emphatic, but Gene wasn't listening. When she pulled her keys from her pocket, he took them from her hand and opened the street door, ignoring her protests. At least he didn't carry me up the stairs, she thought as she plodded the last few steps to her front door.

He opened up, shepherded her into the living room, and dropped the keys on the coffee table. 'Sit.' He pointed to the sofa.

She sat. It would be quicker and easier to let him fossick around than to fight him. She heard him crashing around in her kitchen, slamming cupboard doors and clattering about making tea. She was out of coffee. Hadn't fancied it since Maddox had laced the jar with poison.

He called through to her. 'Have you got any painkillers?'

'Paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet.'

She heard him in there rummaging, muttering impatiently, but couldn't hear what. Probably squeamish about Immac and Tampax, like most men, she thought.

Eventually he came in with a steaming mug in one hand and a glass of water in the other. 'Here.' He put the tea on the coffee table and handed her the glass. Tucked into his palm were two paracetamol, and he held them out for her to take.

'I thought they were for you.' She took the pills and swallowed them.

He frowned. 'No.'

She saw the knuckles on his right hand, skinned and sore-looking. 'That must hurt.'

Gene ignored her. 'Stand up a minute.'

She complied, and he pulled her to the middle of the room, under the overhead lamp. The bright light made her squint and protest.

'Shut up, Bolly, and look at me.' He held her head still and peered into her eyes. She could feel the heat coming off him; smell the smoke on his breath. The idea that he was close enough to kiss whisked through her mind, but she suppressed it. He let her go and held up his index finger. 'Follow my finger.' He moved it from side to side and watched her eyes move in synch. 'What's the date?'

She frowned, but answered easily. 'The sixteenth. Seventeenth by now.'

'Okay. Don't think you're concussed.'

Her head was grasped gently in his hands and he tilted it to one side, probing with surprising sensitivity at her bruised jaw with his surgeon's hands, the long fingers gentle on her skin. She hissed with pain and flinched away from his touch when he found a really sore spot.

'Hold still, Bolls. Trying not to hurt you…' He touched the place again and pressed gently around the area. 'Open your mouth wide.'

'What –?'

'Don't talk. Yawn. That's it.' He was feeling for movement where there shouldn't be any. 'Good. Any teeth feel loose?'

She probed her molars with her tongue. 'No. How come you're such an expert?'

'Boxing.'

'Ahh. Not a street fighter, then.'

'No.' He let her go and went to the window, looking down at the street.

'Any good?'

'I didn't win competitions, if that's what you mean. Ray Carling had the Manchester Police welterweight belt for three years running.'

'Can't say I'm surprised.'

'He's gone soft. Fifteen years ago he'd have broken your jaw, if not your neck.' He sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.

'I'd offer you a drink before you go but I really think you need to get home, Gene. You look knackered.'

'Thanks.' He sounded sour.

She tutted. 'Don't be so touchy. It's been a long day. It's after two.'

'Right. I'll go, then. He collected his gloves from the kitchen as they went to the front door. He stood in the open doorway looking down at her, his face unreadable. The moment stretched and his expression changed subtly; she still couldn't read him but something was making her tremble. She started to lift a hand towards him, but the movement broke the airlock and he stepped out to the landing.

'No hurry in the morning, Bolly. Go to the doctor if you're dizzy or you feel like you're a bit pissed.'

'I will. Thanks. Night, Guv.'

He gave her a last long look, then turned away and walked downstairs.

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Having drunk her tea, tepid by the time she got to it, she had a long, scalding shower to wash the gel out of her hair and the memory of violence off her skin. Thought about Gene. Felt his hands on her face, felt his eyes burning into hers, his body close; felt her body react to the memory. Difficult, awkward man. More layers than puff pastry, if you could make puff pastry out of kevlar. She thought she knew him when she first arrived. Knew his type. She laughed to herself at her crass lack of perception. How quickly she'd judged him. In the last eighteen months all she'd learned was how little she knew of him. Most of the time she didn't have a clue what was going on behind the poker face; there had been fleeting moments when his emotions were raw and unguarded, but he kept himself behind lock and key when it came to what he thought about her. She'd given him plenty of cues, but either he didn't notice, wasn't interested, or… what?

She snapped off the shower and reached for her bathrobe, tying the belt with a yank. Grabbing a towel she draped it over her dripping head and rubbed her hair vigorously, wincing when she brushed against her jaw. Lovely dark blotch tomorrow. There had to be a Carling Black Label joke in there somewhere, but her sense of humour had gone AWOL.

Still rubbing her hair she wandered through to her bedroom. Dark figure standing against the window. Dark figure lunging at her, grabbing her before she had a chance to scream…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Final chapter to come._

_Please [begs prettily] leave a review – reward your fic writer with feedback…._


	5. End of the road

_A long three-in-one chapter to end with. My grateful thanks to Wombledon for moral support and sense and pokey stick as and when required. _

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She sat at the kitchen table, head bent, staring at the white Formica, and fat tears began to spill and roll slowly down her face. Her whole body ached and her head was pounding. He'd gone, and she was alone. Part of her wanted to give in, do what he'd told her, give up. But the rest of her refused. She was not going to let the bastard do this; not going to watch him dismantle everything good she'd discovered in this upside-down, spin-off life.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty-five minutes earlier she'd wandered out of the bathroom, head under a towel as she rubbed her hair dry. Blinkered by hair and towel, she banged into the door frame on the way into her bedroom and swore softly as she hit her already bruised arm.

A movement caught her eye and fear lanced through her. Someone there. In the room. A dark figure by the window. He lunged at her, muttering her name as he grabbed her.

'_Alex_… have to…'

He snatched her close and she felt his mouth on hers for an instant before adrenalin-fuelled instinct shut out everything but the need to escape. She jerked a knee upwards with vicious force, then shoved at his chest with all her strength, screeching like a banshee.

As he crashed backwards against the bed and on to the floor, groaning and hunched over in pain, Alex realised, too late, who it was. The flash of intense relief exploded into incandescent fury and she was shaking with the effort not to kick the bastard while he was down.

'What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?'

He groaned again. 'It was only a bloody kiss, Bolls. Didn't deserve that,' he gasped, cursing as he pulled himself up on to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge, still hunched over.

Alex turned back to the door and flicked on the overhead light; Gene's face was ashen as he looked up at her accusingly. She had a fleeting stab of remorse, seeing him in pain, before the anger swamped it. 'You scared me half to death, you _stupid_ bastard –'

'I called through the bathroom door, for Christ's sake. And you could see it was me. Who the hell else would it be?' As the worst of the pain receded, Gene was starting to lose his temper, which just made her angrier.

'I was _in the shower_, you pillock. Of course I couldn't hear. And what do you mean, "who else could it be"? You'd _left_. The door was _locked_. I had a _towel_ over my head and couldn't _see_. All I saw was an intruder. Which, funnily enough, scared me witless. What the fuck did you expect?' She was yelling at him, the fury out of control.

Gene stood up, carefully, and took a step towards her. In bare feet she was four inches shorter than him, and he loomed over her. She stepped back, her heart thumping faster. 'Don't threaten me, Gene. I did not invite you in here…'

'Threaten you, Bolly? When have I threatened you?' His eyes were sparking, his temper barely under control.

She glared at him. 'How the fuck did you get in here, by the way?'

'With a key.'

'What key?' She was indignant. 'Did Luigi give you a key?'

'Yes. Before you arrived to blight my life. Did you imagine I'd stolen yours and had it copied?'

'Give it to me.' She held her hand out commandingly. 'How bloody dare you have a key to my flat.' A thought occurred to her. 'Do you come in here when I'm not around? Is that why you send me off on wild goose chases, so you can sneak in here and sniff through my knicker drawer?'

His jaw jutted as he bit down on a rash response. Took a breath. 'Don't flatter yourself.' He dragged a bunch of keys out of his pocket and wrestled a Yale key off the ring before slapping it into Alex's outstretched hand. 'There you go. Safe at last.'

She tossed the key on to her dressing table and turned to see Gene halfway to the front door. She chased after him. 'Where the hell do you think you're going? Don't you dare walk away from me.'

'I'm obviously not welcome here so I'll go where I'm appreciated.' He tossed the words at her over his shoulder as he yanked the front door open and headed for the stairs.

'Running away again. You bloody coward!' She yelled after him.

Gene turned on his heel and stalked back to her. 'Don't you bloody dare call me a coward.'

She threw him a killing look before turning her back on him and walking through to her kitchen.

He stalked after her. 'I am not a coward! Don't you –'

She whipped round and snapped at him. 'You run away because you're too much of a wimp to face up to yourself.'

'_What?_' He was beside himself. 'I came back tonight to –'

'Yeah. Broke in and jumped on –'

'I did _not_ break in. I had a key…'

'Can't be normal, can you? Can't bring yourself to knock on the door and wait to be invited in –'

'_I did knock_. When you didn't answer I thought –'

'Thought what, hmmm? Thought I'd swooned dead away for lack of a knight errant? Get over yourself, Gene.'

'Grow up.' He came close enough to shove an accusing index finger towards her face. 'Before I left earlier, you were going to kiss me. You can't deny that.' He walked away from her into the sitting room, going to the window.

She followed, incensed, her face flaming. 'I wasn't exactly thinking straight. You were stamping round the flat giving me orders and prodding me about, having hauled me around and shouted at me and treated me like a child and threatened to _suspend_ me for precisely _nothing_…' She paused to draw breath. 'And then you just waltzed off, as per bloody usual –'

He rounded on her. 'You told me to go! Didn't even offer me a drink. Not even a cup of sodding tea after the night I'd had –'

'And you always do what I suggest. I've noticed that about you.'

Gene snarled at her, teeth bared, fists clenched as he struggled to contain his temper. 'Ditto. You are the most insubordinate, arrogant, disobedient –'

She scoffed at him. 'Oh, please. Change the record.'

'I would if you ever changed your behaviour. I thought you'd learned your lesson after Shit-for-brains Maddox, but oh, no, you're still catting around, waving your tail at any passing tom –'

'How dare you!' She had her hands on her hips, eyes flashing like a Marseilles fishwife. 'For one thing my personal life is none of your bloody business –'

'Until you need rescuing from a psycho boyfriend…'

'I didn't ask –'

'No, you pig-headed, stubborn, stupid bloody woman. Rather get yourself raped or knifed or poisoned than admit you need my help.'

'Don't start this again, Hunt…'

'Don't bring that up again, for Christ's sake…'

'You wouldn't trust me –'

He slapped his forehead. 'Oh, here we go. Can't let it drop, can you? You drive me round the fucking bend.'

'We've got something in common, then.' She was tossing her head in frustrated fury. 'You're enough to justify Prozac. One minute you're all matey and smiling and the next you're doing your iceberg impression.'

'Iceberg?' He shouted with bitter laughter. 'Christ almighty, if anyone could stand in for an iceberg, it's you, woman. You should let Captain Birdseye know you're available in case his electricity's cut off. You could freeze an ocean full of cod with one look. Or failing that, knee them in the bollocks.'

'You _scared_ me,' she hissed at him. 'I didn't know it was you, did I?'

'Who else was it going to be? Is there a queue of poor bastards waiting for a chance to kiss you?'

Alex let out a half-suppressed scream, snatched a cushion off the sofa and flung it at the black chair, needing to do violence to something. 'That's the point, you fuckwit! Suddenly you want to _kiss_ me? Since when?'

'Since I went mad.' He growled back at her. 'For months, the whole pigging world's been upside down. You _know_ how I feel. But you –'

'Oh, god! I have _no idea_ how you _feel_, Gene!'

'You're the bloody psychologist. You're the one with all the fucking insight. Not to mention your feminine fucking _intuition_.'

'I'm not a bloody mind-reader. The only emotion you ever show is anger. Oh, and the occasional flash of derision. If you've got any other emotions you do a damned good job of hiding them.'

He took a deep breath, and dropped his voice. 'Since you never hesitate to trample on my feelings like a mad cow if I ever let a hint of them show, I'd say that was a sensible precaution, wouldn't you?'

There was a sudden chill in the air. Alex felt the anger die as dread sliced through her. While they were shouting there was a chance of getting through his armour. But she hadn't had the courage to risk it, and now the chance was lost.

'Nothing to say?' Gene was in full control of himself again. He looked like a piece of granite, impervious to anything she could do or say. 'No. Well, thank god for that.' He walked round her into the kitchen and picked a glass off the draining board. Turning on the cold tap he filled the glass and tipped the water down his throat.

Alex watched him from the doorway. He put the glass back down and turned to her. 'D'you know what, I think I've just got my sanity back. At least I know where I can find it.'

'Where?' Alex shivered suddenly.

'Sheffield, Bolly. Full of Yorkshiremen, but it could be worse. Could be full of southerners.'

'Sheffield? What are you talking about?'

'My next challenge, Bolls.' He gave her a flash of his cold-eyed grin. 'I've had enough of London. Beautiful, but heartless. You can lose your soul here.'

She was aghast. 'You've got a new job? You're leaving?'

'You're quick off the mark tonight, Bolly. I'm headed for pastures new. So if I were you I'd take a good look at your options. The new DCI might not be such a soft touch as me. But maybe you should go for promotion yourself. You never know, you could take over at Fenchurch East.' He tipped his head back, considering her through narrowed eyes. 'But you'd want a glamour job. Something glittery at the Yard, maybe, or policing bankers with the City force. I hear David Goss is looking for a new DCI.'

His expression was flat as sheet steel and just as impenetrable. Alex suddenly got the shakes and sat down abruptly at the kitchen table. Gene opened a cupboard and fetched out the whisky, poured a good measure into a glass and put it in front of Alex.

She ignored it. 'Why haven't you mentioned this before?'

'You know how it is, Bolly. No point in counting chickens till they're plucked.'

'Does Ray know?'

'No. I found out on Thursday. Spoke to Marsden on Friday. I wouldn't tell a sergeant before I'd informed my DI, would I?'

'Don't know, Gene. Don't know anything any more.'

'Cheer up, Bolls. It may be the end of the road for our little team, but the world is your scallop. This is your chance to fly.' He poured a slug of scotch and knocked it back, then bent to look into her face. 'Are we done? Okay with you if I head home, madam?'

She flicked him a look of sullen dislike. 'Head wherever you like. None of my business, is it?'

'No. Don't get up. I'll see myself out.'

And he was gone, the front door shutting quietly behind him, leaving her staring at white formica and an empty future.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At nine o'clock on a Sunday morning the streets were silent, but the station was lively as it was every morning.

Black Olive was the first person Alex saw on her way into CID. 'Morning, Boss.' He saw her bruised face and winced. 'That's got to hurt.'

She'd applied make-up with a trowel that morning to cover up the damage, but clearly not enough. She gave him a lop-sided smile. 'You should see the other guy.'

He grinned at her, looking young and full of life, mischief in his eyes. 'Just going to have a nice chat with the Wasps.'

Alex chuckled. 'That ought to make their day. Enjoy yourself, Oliver.'

'Don't worry, Boss. I intend to.' The Brixton-born DC loped off down the corridor, full of beans at the prospect of baiting the racists he'd collared at the Red Cow, and getting overtime to boot.

Alex pushed through the double doors to find the office empty but for Gene, who was rooting through a pile of papers on his desk, cursing under his breath. Her heart thumped painfully at the sight of him; she took a couple of deep breaths, then sauntered to his door as if the only thing between them was the North-South divide.

'Morning, Guv. No-one else in?'

He looked up at her and frowned. 'Drake. What are you doing here? I told you to take the day off.'

'No, you said don't hurry in.'

'Well now I'm telling you to take your Sunday off. Don't need you here.'

'You've got twelve men in custody –'

'Uniform are interviewing most of them. You're not required.' He came for a closer look at her. 'Your face looks like a Dulux colour chart. Go home and put an ice pack on it.' He scooped up a pile of papers and stalked out.

Rejected and redundant, Alex needed a friend. At noon she was slumped on Astrid's sofa with her second glass of Semillon; her hostess was decanting dry roasted peanuts. Astrid Summerson was a barrister in a family law practice with chambers in King's Bench Walk. Born in North Yorkshire, the Viking genes ran strong in her; tall and vigorous, with a wide smile, she was a force of nature. She didn't bother with half-truths, let alone lies, and if asked for a personal opinion, would give it unvarnished.

'Tell him, Alex. And make it absolutely clear. Otherwise he'll disappear up the M1 leaving you breathing exhaust fumes.'

'But tell him _what_?' The wine on top of a sleepless night wasn't helping Alex think.

'That you love him.' The barrister was used to dim witnesses.

Alex refused the nuts held out to her, and groaned. 'I don't know…'

'Do you want him?'

'Yes.' Alex's head filled with the smell of smoke and whisky, the sound of a soft growl, the touch of strong hands gentle on her skin. She felt her body respond, and longed for him. 'Oh, yes.'

'So start there and see what happens. He doesn't strike me as a predictable character, so there's no point in guessing. Take action, girl. What have you got to lose? You're going to lose him anyway if you do nothing.'

Alex closed her eyes and sighed. There were complications Astrid knew nothing about. Molly. Layton's bullet. 2008. She could feel her brains scrambling. Lurching to her feet with a groan, she tottered into the kitchen. 'Stuff it. Tomorrow's another day. Till then, let's get pissed and talk nonsense. Gimme those peanuts.'

With an early train to Birmingham in the morning for a day in court, Astrid reined back on the booze, so Alex had the lion's share of two bottles of Piat d'Or; she conked out on the sofa early in the evening and woke muzzy headed and disorientated just before midnight. Astrid had gone to bed, and Alex dragged herself upstairs after glugging back as much water as she could stomach. Lying in bed, she stared into the darkness, sleep kept at bay by a whirligig of sounds and images, intense arguments and heart-stopping moments of tenderness; wild swings between kindness and rage, warm concern and chilly disinterest. Grey-green eyes blazing with fury and glowing with desire. Fleeting glimpses of the man beneath the armour, passionate and vulnerable. A man worth loving; a man whose love would be worth fighting for. Was he really planning to leave? Could she stop him? Or could Gene's departure be the key to her getting home?

Tormented by questions she couldn't answer and longings she couldn't satisfy, she slept, eventually, to dream about Arthur Scargill throwing cutlery off a burning ship.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Monday morning. Sun pouring through the window of Astrid's spare room roused Alex early with only the faintest of hangovers; Astrid had already headed off to Euston but had left breakfast ready for her. Brightened by two mugs of ground coffee, Alex took the bus through Southwark and over Tower Bridge; the river was sparkling in the spring morning light, the trees around the Tower were clad in fresh green and the City looked spruce and ready for something new. She felt much the same, her mind made up. Today she'd get the truth and act on it. Take charge of her life again.

It wasn't quite eight when she got into CID. Only Oliver Haan was in, sitting at Shaz's desk typing up his report, the IBM Golfball chattering under his competent fingers.

'I didn't know you could type like that.' Alex was pleasantly surprised.

'My mum's a secretary. Taught me how after my A levels.'

'Good for her.'

'Don't let on, Boss. They all be at me to do theirs.'

Shaz was trained in typing and shorthand, and Chris was a fast four-finger typist, but the rest of CID were hunt-and-peck Luddites. Alex promised to keep schtum and went to make them both a cuppa.

The rest of the team drifted in over the next hour, although Gene didn't show up till after ten. Carling, Haan and Skelton went to the Magistrates' Court to give evidence against the Wasps and see them convicted of charges ranging from affray to ABH; four of them got off with a fine, two got a five-month suspended sentence and the rest were committed for Crown Court trial. By the time they got back from Bow it was nearly one.

As soon as Ray came in, Gene shouted for him. Thirty seconds later Ray left CID again, and Gene emerged from his office to stand in the doorway, arms folded. It didn't take long for Ray to reappear, his arms laden with a gargantuan bouquet.

The red-faced sergeant shamble up to Alex's desk and thrust the flowers at her as the entire team watched in silence.

'These are for you, er, Ma'am. Sorry, you know, for the other night…'

'Good lord…' Alex struggled with the awkward weight, assailed by perfume and colour. 'That's… kind of you, Ray. Thanks.'

Shaz darted forward and hissed at her. 'There's an envelope, look.'

Putting the flowers on her desk, Alex fished out the envelope and opened it. 'Wow. A day at the Sanctuary.' She looked at him, astonished, and saw the puzzlement on Ray's face. Glanced at Shaz, who was grinning. 'That's generous, Sergeant Carling. Apology accepted.' She held her hand out to Ray, who shook it rather too firmly and dived past her into the kitchen. The office buzz resumed and Alex sat down at a desk completely covered in exotic flora.

When she was in the kitchen later, making herself a mug of Assam, Shaz lobbed up.

'Do you like the flowers, Ma'am?'

'They're stunning, Shaz. Almost literally. They weigh a ton. I'm amazed at Ray.'

Shaz's grin widened. 'Yeah, well, you would be. I'll let you into a secret. Ray paid for 'em but I got them – from the posh florists outside Liverpool Street.'

'Ah. Thank god. For a moment I thought I was on drugs.' She chuckled. 'And the Sanctuary voucher? I can't believe Ray's even heard of the place.'

'Yeah. I nipped over there yesterday afternoon. Had a look round. It's amazing.' Her eyes were out on stalks at the memory. 'The swimming pool – you could float all day looking up to the sky. And the parrots flying around, all jungly. Women wandering around in towels and bikinis all glowing and beautiful. Have you been there?'

Alex sighed. 'Yes, once. Paradise, isn't it? You're a genius to think of it.' She frowned. 'But it must have cost Ray a fortune.'

'Yeah, well. Serve him right, the idiot. The Guv collared him at the Red Cow after you went back to the car. Made Ray hand over his wallet. The Guv took a wodge of notes out of it. Ray wasn't happy, but whatever the Guv said shut him up. Then the Guv gave me the cash and told me to get flowers and whatever else I thought would cheer you up.' The girl produced an envelope from behind her back. 'This is a little extra, from me and Chris. Hope it helps mend the bruises.'

It was another Sanctuary voucher for an aromatherapy massage. 'Shaz – that's fantastic.' Alex hugged her. 'Thank you so much…' She was really touched by the girl's generosity and thoughtfulness. But it wasn't the end of it.

As the day wound to its end, Gene – who'd barely spoken to Alex all day – sidled up to her desk and planted a bottle on the paper-strewn surface. 'Something from the rest of the team. Best medicine for bruises.' He scrutinised the side of her face. 'Technicolor. Feel any better?'

Alex flicked him half a smile. 'Fine, Guv, thanks.'

'Bullshit.'

She gave him a rueful look, this time with a genuine smile. 'I'm sure you know how it feels. Bruises fade. No lasting damage.'

He looked at her from behind the inscrutable mask for a moment, then grunted. 'Hmm. Well, I'm going home. Goodnight, Bolly.'

'Night, Guv. Thanks for the whisky.'

He raised a hand in brief acknowledgement as he made his way to the door.

Alex looked at the bottle properly: Lagavulin twenty-four year old. Expensive. Then she saw the label hung round the neck. She opened the tiny folded card and saw Gene's black scrawl, miniaturised to fit the space.

'Sorry you got hurt. Hope this'll remove the sting.'

Was this about her getting clouted by Ray, or something else? She stared at the label, wondering, then got to her feet. Time to find out. She took the enormous bouquet and the Lagavulin and went home. Sticking the flowers in a bucket of water till she had time to arrange them, she had a shower, changed, and went to find a cab.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The taxi dropped her at the traffic lights and she walked down Stoney Street, hoping that Gene had, as he said, gone home. Yes. There was the Quattro. Her heart started to beat a little faster. She looked through the car window as she walked past and saw one of the tapes she did for him, the plastic case flipped open, the cassette missing. He hadn't binned them, then.

She reached his door. For a split second she panicked and almost turned to flee. But she stuck out a finger and rang the bell, her heart thumping.

He was a long time answering, and she rang again, which prompted an angry roar from inside the house. 'For fuck's sake! Sit on it and swivel!' With a growl, Gene wrenched open the door and glared out. '_What?_' He was taken aback to see her. 'Bolly.' Voice and face were unreadable.

'Nice to see you, too. Can I come in?' Without waiting for an answer, Alex pushed past him into the middle of the living room.

For a moment Gene stood by the open door, as though contemplating whether he could still throw her out. 'If you were half a detective, you'd recognise that I am in the middle of something.'

He did look dishevelled, hair all over the place and sawdust everywhere, with a faint smell of pine resin. Jeans faded and torn from decades of wear, a venerable green shirt with frayed collar, sleeves rolled up, a couple of buttons missing, only half tucked into his waistband; loafers dating from the 1960s, by the state of them, and no socks.

She looked him up and down, and smiled sweetly. 'Cocktail party?'

His face changed from indignant to disgruntled, but he declined to rise to the bait. He gave her the once-over. 'You're looking very… off-duty.'

Now bored witless with most Eighties fashion, Alex had found a vintage clothes shop by the canal bridge at Camden Lock and had snapped up some fabulous stock that might have come out of Audrey Hepburn's bigger sister's wardrobe. The printed cotton sleeveless shift she'd put on was timeless, an early Sixties classic, although the silk bomber jacket over the top was fresh from one of the Lock studios.

'On your way to meet Mr Music?' He managed to drench the words with acid.

'She shook her head. 'No. No special plans.' She shrugged off the jacket and put it on the back of a kitchen chair sitting by the door as though it were waiting for its chance to escape the half-furnished house.

'What are you after, then?'

'Quick chat, that's all. Twenty-seven minutes.' Alex tapped her watch. 'Then I'll be through that door and gone.'

Gene's face creased in irritation. 'Why not just say half an hour?'

'I was allowing for three minutes of injury time.'

He took a deep breath. 'If you've come for another row…'

'No. I want to clear the air, that's all. See if we can avoid arguing for the rest of your stint as my guv'nor.' She kept her voice calm, her body language placid.

He grunted, still suspicious of her motives. That's what it looked like, anyway. Who knew what was going on behind the mask.

Alex took the bottle of Lagavulin out of her bag and handed it to him. 'Rather special whisky, Gene, thank you. Generous of you. Shall we have a toast?'

'To what?' He took the bottle from her.

'I'll think of something while you're pouring.'

He disappeared into the kitchen, and in the silence, Alex could hear music from upstairs. She listened hard. Sibelius. The great theme of the fifth symphony. Her other tape.

'Here, then, Bolls.' He was back, handing her a glass. 'What's the toast?'

She raised her glass to him. 'To your next challenge.'

Gene clinked his glass against hers, and drank.

'You going to tell me about it?' Alex glanced at him.

'If you can keep your mouth shut until the end of the week.'

'Sure.'

'I've been approached to head up a football intelligence group.'

She had to clench her teeth to avoid mentioning oxymorons, and she knew he'd noticed her reaction.

'Hooliganism is rife, Bolly, and if we don't get a grip there's going to be a catastrophe. Lives lost.'

Yes, she thought. Heysel. _Christ_... 'Isn't Hillsborough in Sheffield?'

He looked nonplussed. 'Yes. Why?'

'Doesn't matter. Go on.'

'Transport Police are just fire-fighting. Local forces can only react to what blows up on match days. We know it's organised. Every bloody football club has got its own firms. Know what the latest mob at Man City's called? The Guvnors. Cheeky fucking bastards. But we've got no co-ordinated response, no means of prevention, no means of catching the scum before they cause more havoc.'

'This isn't just for South Yorkshire, then?'

'First Division.'

'That's a hell of a job.'

'Softly softly catchee arsewipe.' He flashed his eyebrows at her over the rim of his glass as he took a drink. 'To do it properly we'd need a hundred times the budget they're giving us, but it's a start.'

'All fixed, then?'

'In principle. Still got a few details to sort out.'

'When are you leaving?'

'Want to be off and running before the new season starts, so I'm due in Sheffield at the end of June. I've got a lot of leave owing, so if we can box off the admin, I could be gone end of next week.'

Alex felt as though she'd been punched in the solar plexus, and she sat down rather abruptly on the arm of the big rust-coloured armchair. Pushing her feelings aside – she couldn't face them anyway – what did this mean for her existence in 1982? Life without Gene… Maybe this _was_ a warning. Maybe she had to get him to stay to keep herself alive. Face it, if she couldn't get back to Molly, and couldn't stay with Gene, she might as well be dead.

'You okay, Bolls? You look like you've gone through the wash on a fast spin.'

'Yeah… fine. I'm fine.'

'In which language does "fine" mean 'shit", Bolly?'

She looked at him blankly.

He went to the kitchen, fetched the whisky bottle and poured her another dram before helping himself. He nodded at the glass in her hand. 'Drink the medicine, Alex.'

She obeyed, but took too big a mouthful and the spirit made her choke for an instant before she recovered. 'Is this new job why you were in a black mood a few weeks ago?'

'What? Oh... No.' Gene walked to the window and stared at the darkened Borough Market across the road. He said nothing, but Alex kept quiet and let him take his time while he lit up and smoked half a fag. He kept his back to her as he eventually began to talk. 'You met Erica Brodie.'

'Yes. Nice woman. Sweet face.'

He sighed. 'Yeah. I, er… it wasn't working out….'

'You seemed happy. She adored you.'

'It was nice, the attention. She couldn't do enough for me. Flattering, that. But after a while it was like living on cream buns. Do you know what I'm on about?'

'Oh, yes. The junk food diet. You're starving while you eat yourself sick.' Alex was quite shocked at the bitterness in her voice, remembering her string of lovers.

'I told her I couldn't see her any more. She went apeshit. Crying and begging. Said she wanted us to get married. Told me she was pregnant.'

'Ah. That was the week…' Alex slotted all the pieces together and got the picture.

'…that was. Yeah. Caught between a rock and a cleft stick. I didn't believe her, but I couldn't be sure, and if she was carrying my child I couldn't abandon her, could I? Sodding nightmare.'

When he said nothing more, she prompted gently. 'What happened?'

'Followed your orders, Bolls. Went to see her the next day and asked her straight out if she was pregnant. She admitted she'd been lying.' A long sigh escaped him.

'Thanks for telling me,' Alex said softly.

Gene turned away from the window and looked over at her. 'No feminist lecture?'

She shrugged. 'It was a shitty thing to do.'

He tensed, anger bubbling. 'What option did I have, Alex? It would have been a disaster –'

'No – what _she_ did to you, Gene. Emotional blackmail. The tender trap. It's a shitty trick. Never works, anyway. How long can a relationship last on that basis?'

He shrugged. 'She's not bad, just desperate.' Stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on the windowsill, he gave her another long quizzical look. 'Why are you being nice? You waiting for the right moment to skewer me through the vitals?'

'No... I just want to clear the air. Don't want bad feeling between us. I said some hurtful things on Saturday night. I'm sorry, Gene. I'd like us to part friends.'

'Does clearing the air mean a shouting match?' He was on the defensive, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning back against the wall, looking down his nose at her.

The butterflies were stampeding, her heart fluttering. Alex stood up and took a couple of steps forward, stopping two feet away from him. 'Alternative dispute resolution. I'm looking for a win-win outcome here, Guv. I think we should set parameters. No interference, no third party influence. Head to head mediation.'

He looked blank. 'Is that bollocks supposed to mean anything, Drake?'

'These are the terms of reference, Gene.' She closed the gap between them, reached up and kissed him, one hand caressing his face, the other behind his head, drawing him closer. His lips were soft, warm, tasting inevitably of whisky and smoke, the hint of beard around his mouth grazing against her skin.

She pulled away so she could see his face, and his arms tightened round her before letting her go. For a second she'd seen the fire leap in his eyes before his defences kicked in. His body was taut with adrenalin, eyes glittering in a granite face.

'You taking the piss, Bolly? Pack it in before we both regret it.'

She smiled at him and nudged closer. Put a hand on his chest and felt his heart racing, thudding under her palm. Her other hand slid over his shoulder to the nape of his neck, her fingers pushing into his hair.

Gene's hands were at her waist, ready to push her away. 'This is your idea of a parting gift? Or do you just want to add me to your collection of ex-lovers before I escape?'

She trailed kisses along his jaw, murmuring between kisses. 'No. And no. Try again.'

His right hand slid upwards, over her ribs and round to her back. 'It's an apology for the year of grief and bloody torment you've put me through.'

She kissed his chin. 'Nope.

His fingers were sending shivers up and down her spine. 'You've got a bet on with that Swedish au pair friend of yours.'

She grinned as she nudged her forehead against his, rubbed noses. 'None of the above,' she murmured. 'Keep guessing.' She nuzzled her mouth against his, flicked her tongue over his lips. But got no response. 'You're allowed to kiss back, Gene.'

'Oh, no. Not till I know what your game is. Where's the catch?'

She pushed her hips forward, rubbing against him in an unmistakable invitation. 'No catch. Just a zip at the back. It slides down easily…'

He let out a tortured groan. 'Any more of that and I'll have to bang you up for enticement. Or incitement. Or –'

She nipped at his earlobe. 'Bang away, officer. I confess.' She took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his still bruised knuckles one by one; gazing into his eyes she took his middle finger into her mouth and sucked. Then yanked it out again, her face screwed up in disgust.

'_Urgh – uch… yuk_…' She wiped her tongue on the back of her hand, trying to get rid of the taste of sawdust and wood glue, then ran cursing to the kitchen to rinse her mouth clean. Cold tap running, she rinsed and spat into the sink, then filled the glass again and drank thirstily; as she tipped the last drops down her throat, Gene materialised beside her, reaching to the tap to wash his hands and forearms free of dust.

'See what happens when you disturb a man doing it himself?' He glanced sideways at her, eyes glittering.

'All right, Barry Bucknell.' She gave him a glare. 'Actually, you're more like Tommy Walsh.'

'Who's he when he's at home?'

'A big scruffy Barry Bucknell.' She rolled her eyes at him and smiled.

He turned and leant back against the sink, looking pointedly at his watch. 'It's ten past seven.'

'So?'

'You promised to leave at eight minutes to.'

She had somehow moved a few inches closer to him. 'Are you missing _The Archers,_ or something?'

He didn't budge. 'Can't I trust you to keep your promises?'

She hissed. 'Oooh. Below the belt.'

He leant sideways, his head close to hers. 'Got my own back after Saturday, then.' His voice was dry as gin.

She felt herself blush, to her irritation. 'Is, er, everything back in shape?'

'Pretty much. Just as well I had the Crombie on. Wool like chain mail.'

Alex, genuinely defensive now, crossed her arms and pulled away from him a little. 'Told you. I didn't realise it was you. You scared the shit out of me.'

Gene's head dropped in exhaustion. 'Here we go. Get it over with, then.'

He was obviously convinced she wanted a fight; Alex made herself relax, determined to not to argue. She found his hand and laced her fingers through his, squeezing gently. 'Gene, I just need you to understand…'

He pulled her hand away from hers. 'I do.'

She found his hand again and held it in both of hers. 'Please listen. I'm not –'

This time he walked away from her, but only to pour them both another whisky. She followed him out of the kitchen, and took her glass from his outstretched hand.

Gene perched on the back of the armchair and looked up at her, grim-faced. 'Alex, I may lose it sometimes, but I'm not stupid. Do you imagine I haven't thought about it? I came back because I didn't want you to be alone. I knocked on the door and got no answer, and got worried you might have… I don't know, fainted or something. I let myself in when I remembered I still had Luigi's spare key. I heard the shower going, so I knocked on the bathroom door and called out to you.' Seeing her about to speak, he raised a hand to silence her. 'I realise now you didn't hear. I was going to wait in the living room, but I heard a ruckus in the street and your bedroom window was the nearest. Then you came out of the bathroom looking so…' He swallowed, and turned his eyes away from her. 'I lost it. Wanted you so much. Didn't think. Didn't think about Maddox, or that you were all over the place from the punch, or that you didn't know I'd come back or that your bedroom was in darkness. None of that.' He looked at her, then. Reached out to touch her hair, then let his fingers trail lightly down her bare arm. 'All I could think about was holding you. Kissing you. Keeping you safe. Couldn't stand it any more, Bolls, couldn't walk away again…'

What she saw in his eyes melted everything inside her, the warmth spilling from her in a smile she couldn't stop. '_Gene_…' She put a hand to his face, stroked his cheek, tears making her eyes shine.

He put his hands to her hips and pulled her closer. 'Don't you dare cry,' he growled softly, his eyes glowing as he gazed up at her.

She shook her head, beyond words, barely able to breathe. Stroked her thumb lightly over his lips, she bent her head and feathered a kiss across his mouth; a sound came from her throat somewhere between a whimper and a laugh as Gene surged to his feet and wrapped his arms round her and they were touching, kissing, surrendering to the raging hunger. There was no more pretence – just wanting, and need. Alex devoured him, pulling his head to hers with grasping hands, her body pushing against his, close as they could get, the heat burning them up.

Gene's hands were in her hair, his mouth on her neck, on her throat; he murmured her name, hands straying down her back, stroking over her arse, pulling her hips tight against his with a groan of sheer lust, taking her mouth again, tongue darting and teasing till Alex's knees threatened to give way.

'Want you, Gene. Now. Want you now…' she growled between kisses.

'Upstairs.' He pushed her towards the staircase, managing to unzip her dress and unsnap her bra before they reached the landing, pulling his shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes by the bedroom door. They were both naked by the time they reached the bed, ravenous for each other, touching and tasting, desperate to be closer.

'Alex… beautiful. Want you too much… can't…' And he was inside her, grunting as she convulsed around him, trying to get control before he started to move; Alex wrapped her legs around his waist, her eyes all over him, black with lust. She put her hands to his head, framing his face; kissed him passionately, then gasped as he buried himself deep inside her. His eyes were the colour of sunlit ocean, deep enough to drown in. All barriers down, as close as they could be, the sense of completion was so intense that for a moment she forgot to breathe.

Then they were driving each other on, groaning, gasping, only heat and friction and hands and mouths and naked flesh until she felt him come, growling her name between clenched teeth before he collapsed on her, spent and breathless… She was tantalisingly close, and it took her only a few deft strokes while he was still inside her to make herself come, bucking under him, released.

Gene rolled to one side, kissing her and gathering her into his arms. 'Lovely Alex. So lovely.' He buried his face in her neck, squeezing her tight.

She stroked his head, her hand moving to the nape of his neck, rubbing gently. 'You okay?'

He took a deep breath, lifted his head and looked at her, a smile in his eyes. 'Top of the world, Bolls.' He caressed the curve of her hip, his touch so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

She kissed his shoulder as her fingers rubbed small circles on his back.

'Close your eyes, love,' he murmured. 'Get some rest. Safe with me.'

After two nights of broken sleep, she didn't need telling twice, and pillowing her head on his chest, she was out like a light.

*************

She woke to find Gene gone. Not wanting to dress, but too cold to stay naked, she pulled a white shirt out of his wardrobe in lieu of a dressing gown. Treading silently down the stairs she could smell ciggie smoke, and saw Gene sitting in the lone armchair, fag and glass of scotch in hand, listening to Grieg songs, the volume turned right down. Her tape again.

'Hey,' she called softly, padding across the polished floor. 'I missed you.'

His voice was a rumble. 'Couldn't sleep. Didn't want to wake you.'

She perched on the chair arm and put an arm round his shoulders, leaning to kiss the top of his head. 'What's up?'

He waved the glass. 'Want a drink?'

'No, thanks.' She filched his glass and took a sip before handing it back, getting a slit-eyed look from him. 'Come on, what's wrong?'

He was a long time answering. Eventually he took a final drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the floor. 'Left it too late. And now I've let you down.'

Alex wriggled round and let herself slide down on to Gene's lap, her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. 'What? You haven't let me down. What's too late?'

'Waited so long. Wanted you too much. Disappointed you.'

She was frowning, trying to work out what he was talking about. Light dawned. '_No_… It was wonderful –'

'Don't, Alex. Don't patronise me. I wasn't up to the mark. Couldn't make you come.'

'Gene, I was thirty seconds behind you –'

'You had to finish it.'

She looked into his eyes and saw he'd left himself wide open, defenceless. Her heart went out to him, and if she'd had any doubts, she knew now for certain. Felt nothing like this in her life before. She kissed him, and kissed him, and holding his gaze, smiled into his eyes. 'I _love_ you, Gene Hunt.' She kissed him again. 'You think this is a one-night stand?'

'Wouldn't blame you after that performance.'

She chuckled softly. 'I grant you it wasn't a textbook seduction, but it was exciting. We can take the scenic route next time.'

He was quiet, watching her intently.

She traced her fingers over his lips. 'Have you taken a vow of silence?'

His hand pushed open the shirt she was using as a dressing gown. 'This is my best shirt, Bolly. Ironed and ready for a meeting with the AC tomorrow.' He was touching her breast, watching her face as he caressed and teased the soft flesh, arousing her instantly.

She pushed her hand inside his bathrobe, exploring. 'I'd better take it off, then.'

'Not yet. You look so good in it. May have to let you keep it.' As he kissed her, she felt his hand wander down her body, making her skin tingle, leaving her trembling.

She reached out and took his hand, pulling it towards her, opening her mouth over his index and middle fingers, her tongue snaking between them as she suckled.

'_Jeesus_…' Gene pulled his hand away and pushed her legs apart; the first touch of his fingers sent her spiralling up, muscles tensing, the fluid darkness gathering round her as he probed and stroked. He slid his fingers inside her, and she was lost, her head flung back, panting and moaning uncontrollably, winding up to a scream as she came, bucking and shuddering till the last waves pulsed through her, leaving her gasping with laughter, sprawled like a ragdoll over the chair.

'Back to bed, Bolls. Want you.'

She felt light-headed, drunk on him. 'Can't move. All my bones have melted.'

'Funny, I seem to have an extra one.' He scooped her into his arms and struggled to his feet, groaning with effort. 'Getting too old for this. You're going to have to stop eating, Bolly.'

Too weak to protest, she giggled helplessly as he staggered upstairs with her, and squealed as he dropped her on the bed; kneeling over her, he kissed his way from her mouth to her toes and half way back again. Alex had gone quiet, and he looked up for a moment. 'You gone to sleep on me?'

'No... Don't stop… _please_…' She reached down and pushed her fingers gently through his hair.

'What's it worth?' He was smiling, his eyes glinting, complicit in her pleasure.

'Anything you want. Everything… just… Gene… please, my love…'

He brought her all to soon to a second shattering climax, and before her heartbeat had slowed, he turned her over, pulled her to her knees and slid into her with a groan of pure bliss. Alex, beyond all thought, out of control, mewed and gasped as Gene took her to the next level, both of them lost to everything but the last intense moments, the heart-stopping climax and collapse into exhausted, ecstatic release.

Once back on earth, Alex sat up and struggled out of Gene's shirt, dropped the crushed garment on the floor and subsided on to his chest with a sigh of utter satisfaction. 'You are amazing…'

'Don't sound so surprised, Bolls.' He put his arms around her and squeezed, but let go instantly when she hissed with pain. 'Did I hurt you? What's wrong?'

'Bruises still a bit tender from the other night, that's all. Didn't feel them till just now.' She chuckled. 'I had my mind on higher things.'

'Roll over. Let me look.'

She did as asked, and Gene saw the extent of the damage properly. Great dark bruises on her back, from shoulder to hip, where she crashed against the speakers and fell to the floor.

'Christ, Alex…' She felt his hand on her back, soothing with the lightest of touches, in contrast to his voice, which shook with anger. 'That bastard. I'll kill him.'

Rolling over to face him, Alex put a hand to his face. 'He didn't know it was me. He's an idiot, but you've already made him pay through the nose.'

'I should have broken it for him.'

'Strap him down and shave his 'tache off in front of the whole team. He'd find that a lot more painful.'

Gene chuckled, and kissed her. 'You have an evil streak. I like that about you, Mrs Peel.' He looked thoughtful. 'Hmmm. Black leather catsuit.'

She grinned. 'Don't tell me. With a spiked collar.'

He hissed at the thought. 'Hellfire… That's a picture to keep a man going.'

'What do you look like in pinstripes and a bowler?'

'A prize tosser.' He scrambled out of bed and fished his bathrobe off the floor. 'Don't move.' He left the room, and Alex could hear him rummaging in the bathroom. He came back with a small round tin in his hand, and showed it to her. 'Lion Ointment. Made from the finest lions. Good for bruises. Shove over and lie on your front.'

She stretched out and pillowed her head on her arms, turned to one side so she could watch him from the corner of her eye. He sat on the edge of the bed and took the lid off the tin; she caught a faint smell of furniture polish. 'What's in it?'

'Told you. Essence of lion. Now shush. Relax. Go to sleep.'

Her giggle was a bit muffled. 'I've got essence of lion inside me.'

'Shh. Only works if you're quiet, Bolly.'

She felt his hand smoothing ointment on her shoulder blade, and sighed noisily as Gene rubbed in gentle circles. Lulled by the combination of endorphins, exhaustion, love, happiness and the bliss of being cared for, Alex was asleep in minutes. She was vaguely aware when Gene stood up and covered her with the duvet, and again when he got back into bed, a protective arm resting over her back. After that, she sank deep into dreamless sleep, woken only briefly by Gene's snoring.

She didn't wake till after nine; she hadn't heard Gene get up and leave, but there was no sign of the Quattro outside, and she found a note by the kettle in the kitchen.

'_You've gone to the quack. Not expected till lunchtime. Relax. Have breakfast. Have a long bath. You can do my washing, the hoover's under the stairs and there's the wainscoting to be primed and painted in the spare room. G'_

Smiling to herself, she made tea and thought about the night just gone. He hadn't told her that he loved her. He hadn't reacted when she said she loved him. But it was in his eyes and his touch and... He was everything she'd craved all her adult life, everything she'd failed to find in the men she'd dated. Let alone married. She could never have invented him, and she wasn't going to lose him now.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Alex put fresh sheets on the bed and the dirty ones in the wash, but ignored Gene's laundry; she did his washing up and wiped down the kitchen worktop, but ignored the hoover. She retuned the radio to Radio 4 while she tidied; he'd notice, and and she bet herself that he'd be annoyed enough to say something. Women interfering with a man's gadgets. The thought made her laugh out loud, mostly because she was happier than she'd been for years. There was something very appealing about treating his house like a home rather than a hotel, but was careful not to leave anything of hers behind when she left. Making presumptions about Gene was like forecasting weather; all the signs were that she'd be invited back that night, but the wind might change before evening.

She reached Fenchurch East at one-twenty to find DCI Hunt presiding over an empty CID room. One of the rare smiles lit his face when she appeared at the door of his office.

Smiling back at him, she gestured at the deserted office. 'Where is everyone?'

'I packed the lot of them off on a tour of their snouts to pick up a bit of gossip. They'll be back before long.' He got up and walked round his desk. 'Come here and greet your senior officer properly.'

She walked into his arms and was soundly kissed before being pulled into a fierce hug. Wrapped in his arms, Gene's face buried in her hair, Alex knew she'd found her place in this world. Something she'd heard her first day here rang in her mind. 'Where the Guv is, is the place to be.' Ray. Of all people, it had been Ray who'd said it.

As the team filtered in after lunch, Alex watched them going about their day as if nothing had happened. Which, as far as they knew, was true. They gathered round the flipchart to pool information they'd gleaned, and to work out what to do with it. She felt oddly detached, although Gene was apparently the same as ever, hurling insults in all directions and mixing metaphors with abandon as he dunked ginger nuts in his tea and listened to his team.

As the day ended and the team scattered to Luigi's, home or otherwise, Gene beckoned Alex into his office. 'Want to come back with me tonight?' He spoke softly in case of stray ears.

She put her head on one side, considering. 'Could do, I suppose. What's on offer?'

'Kebab and a video, once you've done a couple of hours' sanding.'

'Irresistible.'

'Good decision.' His eyes glinted. 'Let's show our faces over the road for half an hour. Then you nip upstairs and stuff some knickers and your toothbrush in a bag, and meet me in the car.'

She saluted. 'Should we synchronise watches?'

'I'll synchronise you in a minute. Shift your arse, Truly Scrumptious.'

'Keep your hair on, Caractacus.'

She squealed as Gene goosed her, and skittered through his door, followed by her grinning DCI.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They lay quiet in each others' arms, bodies cooling and pulses slowing after another practice session. It was still early – they'd been in bed naked within sixty seconds of slamming Gene's front door. Well. In the bedroom, on the rug, to be accurate. They somehow migrated to the bed in the process, mostly because Gene was mindful of Alex's bruises, and the possibility of splinters off the still unvarnished floorboards.

'Why did we wait all this time?' Alex nuzzled his collarbone, tasting the salt on his skin.

'Point is, we've come to our senses, Bolls. Not before time, I grant you, but we've got all the time in the world now.' He kissed her head, sliding a hand over her bare back.

Have we, though? Have I? How long before Molly calls me back and I have to leave you? Alex wiped her eyes but failed to stop the first tears falling on to Gene's shoulder.

'Bolls?' He'd felt the tears. He lifted her chin so he could see her face; kissed her wet eyes. 'What's up, love?'

She couldn't tell him the real reason. 'Are you really leaving next week?'

'I'm leaving, yes. Don't have to go next week, but mid-June, latest.'

'Nothing could make you stay?'

'London's a swamp. The Met's a mess. Seems there are more villains in the Force than outside it, and I'm sick of fighting internal battles over budgets and red tape and bad press. We work like one-armed paper hangers and get fuck all result. And the footie project's important. Affects a lot of people. Interesting work and I've got a free hand. A tuppenny-ha'penny budget, but a free hand. Can't pass it up, Bolls.'

'No, course you can't.' She rolled on to her back and put an arm over her face, shielding her eyes from him. She'd been kidding herself. Whatever he felt for her, it wasn't enough to keep him in London; she couldn't compete with policing, football and the North. She had three choices: wave him goodbye and hope something would yank her back to 2008 before she broke her heart over him; keep the fragile relationship going long distance as long as she could; or try to follow him north. She moved her arm and opened her eyes.

Gene was lying on his side and had propped his head on one elbow so his face was only inches away; his eyes were glowing for her, the first time she'd seen him deep-down, unreservedly, simply happy.

They got lost in each other for a while. Then both spoke together.

'Take me with you –'

'Come with me, Alex…'

They broke off, but he nodded at her. 'You first.'

She swallowed. 'You'll need a psychologist. All those deviant personalities…' Her heart was in her throat.

'South Yorks Police, yeah. The hooligans are no trouble.'

Did he think she was joking? She was about to say something more, but he put a finger to her lips.

'I've already put your name forward, Bolls. Told the brass I couldn't do the job without you.'

She replayed the last few seconds in her head. _What_ did he just say?

The smile was mostly in his eyes. 'Oh, you should see your face.'

'What's the matter with it?'

'It's lovely.'

The penny dropped. 'What do you mean, you've already put my name forward?'

'Just that. I told them if you didn't agree to join the team I'd have to rethink.'

'Wha– … you… wh–'

'I wasn't going to leave the woman I love for some poxy job the wrong side of the Pennines, was I?'

Despite her best efforts to look angry, the smile crept across her faces. 'You devious, low-down, sneaky –'

'_Concealia est prudentia_, Bolls.'

'What?'

'The only bit of Latin I ever learned. My school motto. _Sneaky is best_.'

The laugh burst from her. 'Do you know what's wrong with you, Gene Hunt?'

'No, what?'

Her features melted into a blissful smile. 'Nothing…'

That cracked him up, and he fell on her, laughing as he kissed her smiling mouth. He told her then, over and over, between kisses. And one thing led to another.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having squared things with Marsden for Alex to transfer, and getting the details boxed off with the Assistant Commissioner, there was no reason to keep the secret any longer. Gene called the team together at the end of Wednesday's shift and gave them the news before taking them all across the road to let them absorb it over a keg of beer.

CID was subdued first thing on Thursday. The gloom only lifted at mid-morning when Ray and a posse of DCs responded to a shout in Stepney, and Black Olive went with Lucas to a depot in Shadwell to follow up a report about a missing container load of Donkey Kong and Space Invaders.

'Like we haven't got enough to do to sort ourselves out, without arranging the careers of the entire bloody CID.' Gene growled as he tried to snare a straw mushroom at the Wu Wei on Borough High Street that evening. Half the team had wanted to talk to one or other of them about their future.

'It'll be a major disruption, with both of us going.' Alex, adept with chopsticks, picked up the mushroom and fed it to Gene before picking up a strand of crispy beef for herself. 'How long did it take Ray to ask if he could go with you?'

'He hasn't yet.' At Alex's expression of surprise he nodded. 'I know. Me too.' He scooped up a mouthful of fried rice. 'Fact is he'd be quite good. I was thinking of putting him back in Manchester to sniff around the North West.'

Alex put her head on one side, thinking, then nodded. 'Yeah. He could be very useful. He'd infiltrate easily, but he's lazy and undisciplined if he hasn't got you to stamp on his head.'

'There's a DI in Preston who might be interested. He knows Carling. I'll have a word when I get up there.'

'What about Chris?'

'No. I need self-starters. Chris needs his hand holding, and he wants Shaz to hold it.'

'That's the thing, Gene. I'd really like Shaz on the team. She's bright, well-informed, a hard worker and brave. She'd be perfect for getting at the hooligan WAGs.'

'Wags?' Gene shook his head, frowning.

'Wives and girlfriends. They'll overhear what their men are planning, and they'll have to clean up the bloody noses and scraped knuckles on Saturday nights. Some of them must be fed to the back teeth with it.'

Gene regarded her through narrowed eyes as he tipped the rest of his Tsingtao beer down his throat. 'You've been doing a lot of thinking in the last couple of days.'

She smiled, eyebrows flashing. 'You bet. It's exciting.'

'You coming up to Sheffield for the job, or for me?'

Alex reached across the table and squeezed his hand. 'For you, Gene. But it is a brilliant job.'

'Hmph.' He bit through a king prawn. 'Shaz isn't going to leave Chris in London.'

'He's not going to want to be left.' She snaffled the pork ball Gene was chasing round the dish and ate it, grinning at his indignation. 'I agree he wouldn't add much to the team, but there's bound to be a Skelton-sized hole in South Yorkshire somewhere.' She picked up another pork ball and offered it to Gene, who bit it off the chopsticks, holding her gaze with eyes that promised good things for later. She felt quite hot all of a sudden.

She slipped a foot out of her shoe and slid it slowly up Gene's shin, watching tiny muscles in his face shift, his eyes glittering. Alex reached for a spring roll and wrapped her lips around it, slowly and knowingly; Gene sniffed and looked round for a waiter.

'Bill, please. Now!'

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At two o'clock on the last Friday in May, Gene changed down to second gear as the car nosed up to the traffic lights where the A1 met the North Circular at Hendon.

Alex was rooting through the glove compartment, where Gene kept his cassettes. 'Got any Tennessee Arnie Ford tapes?'

Gene turned a puzzled face towards her. 'Tennessee Ernie Ford?'

'Yeah.' She sounded a bit defensive. 'Or Rider Haggard?'

Gene exploded with laughter. 'Merle Haggard, you dippy city tart. No. Try Johnny Cash. There, look.'

'_Ring of Fire_?' Alex was scoffing at the title.

'They like their chilli hot in Texas.'

The lights changed and they crossed Hendon Lane; a couple of minutes later the red Audi shot under the blue motorway sign and Gene accelerated on to the M1. Putting the Quattro into fifth gear, he took Alex's hand in his, kissed her palm and rested their joined hands on her thigh as he pushed the accelerator to the floor and headed north.

_**- end **__- _

_[For eagle-eyed reference spotters, there is a line in there from The Sweeney, two from Charade and another from the Persuaders.] _

_Thanks to you all for reading, and to those of you who review, a big fanfic hug._

_Maybe see you after A2A3 (but I will finish Storm, I promise), but for now – adios, signorinas, as Gene might say._


End file.
